V 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL 


A  GR^ECO-AMERICAN  PLAY 


BEING  A  POETICAL  SATIRE  ON  NEW  YORK  SOCIETY 


ILLUSTRATIONS    BY   C.    D.    WELDON 


FUNK    &   WAGNALLS 

NEW    YORK  1885  LONDON 

10   AND    12    DEY   STREET  44   FLEET  STREET 

All  Rights  R  served. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1884,  by 

FUNK  &  WAGNALLS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


PERSONS   OF    THE   PLAY. 


Chorus  of 


ALONZO  BUNTLING. 

ANASTASIA  BUNTLING. 

JANE  BUNTLING. 

LEANDER  BRIGGS. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 

THE  BUTLER. 

Two  GUESTS. 

A  REPORTER. 

KNICKERBOCKER  YOUNG  MEN. 

MANEUVERING  MAMMAS. 

SOCIAL  STRUGGLERS. 

BELLES. 

WALL-FLOWERS. 

GOSSIPS. 

ANGLOMANIACS. 

GLUTTONS. 


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SOPHOCLES,  Ant.,  295-301. 


MRS.    BUNTLING. 

ANASTASIA  BUNTLING,  faithful 

spouse 
Of    stout   Alonzo,  potentate 

in  Pork, 

Westward  return  with  lord  and  loving  child 
Across  Atlantic's  many-sounding  deep, 
Borne  safe  between  the  stanch  Cunarder's  ribs, 
Wave-furrowing,  tempest-baffling,  huge  of  bulk. 


6  THE  BUNTLIiVG  BALL. 

Long  was  our  stay  in  European  lands, 

And  frequent  were  the  marvels  that  we  met, 

Whereof  in  ample  text,  with  patient  skill, 

Already  the  wise  Baedeker  hath  told  : 

Art-galleries,  damp  cathedrals,  bad  hotels, 

Innumerable  ruins,  mountains  vast, 

Dishonest  couriers  and  vivacious  fleas. 

Things  of  great  price  we  purchased  as  we  roamed, 

Wrought  by  men  famed  with  chisel  or  with  brush — 

Rare  statues,  pictures,  bronzes,  good  to  range 

In  sumptuous  chambers  when  transpontine  shores 

Would  claim  us  ;  but  for  me,  my  chief  delight 

Was  gathering  varied  garments,  fold  on  fold 

Of  beauteous  texture,  frilled  and  furbelowed 

In  many  a  fantasy  of  sweet  device  ; 

The  last  fair  whims  of  fashion's  dainty  mood, 

Expensive,  hateful  to  my  husband's  purse. 

Nor  me  alone  this  fond  pursuit  engrossed, 

But  also  her,  my  daughter,  still  a  maid, 

White-handed,  marriageable,  golden- tressed. 

So  Jane  and  I  together  have  brought  home 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

A  precious  quantity  of  splendid  gear, 

Impervious  to  Alonzo's  noisy  wrath, 

Impervious  to  the  tariff's  tyrant  fee, 

Impervious  to  the  envy  of  sly  foes, 

Impervious  to  all  else  but  our  own  aims 

Of  self-adornment  and  superior  style. 

For  she  is  pitiably  low  of  soul 

Who  values  not  the  holy  claims  of  dress, 

Nor  worships  at  her  mirror's  polished  shrine 

In  attitudes  of  sacerdotal  awe. 

I  hold  that  woman  most  delectable 

Who  walks  in  paths  beloved  of  her  modiste, 

Nor  sins  by  wanton  scorn  of  stay  or  flounce, 

The  proper  trail  of  skirt,  fit  set  of  sleeve. 

Nay,  she  alone  hath  heed  of  worthy  ends, 

Pays  vanity  its  lawful  homage,  lives 

A  reverent  votary  of  self-esteem, 

And  dying  passes  with  calm  vogue  to  where 

After  life's  fitful  fever  she  sleeps  swell  .  .  . 

But  now  the  chandeliers  are  all  ablaze, 

O'ertwined  with  smilax,  and  the  mantels  bloom 


8  THE  BUNT  LING  BALL. 

With  balmy  roses,  rare,  one  dollar  each, 

In  this  our  grand  Fifth  Avenue  abode, 

Leased  for  a  twelvemonth.     From  Chicago  we, 

Primarily,  but  here  have  paused  awhile, 

To  test  the  social  pleasures  of  New  York. 

What  triumphs  we  shall  win  or  what  shall  miss 

We  know  not,  for  the  future  none  may  read 

Of  purblind  men,  and  all  fate's  ways  are  dark. 

But  look,  my  daughter  comes,  with  six  bouquets, 

Sent  by  herself,  a  shape  superbly  clad, 

Her  lustrous  little  slipper  gleaming  neat 

Below  her  garb's  pale  miracle  of  taste, 

And  over  all  her  gold  hair,  coiled  and  curled 

In  architectural  complexity. 

JANE. 

Mamma,  beloved  with  filial  tenderness, 
Reveal  if  in  my  costume  any  flaw 
Offends  thee;    for  thy  good  opinion 
I  cherish  as  dry  leaves  the  slant  fresh  rain. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  9 

MRS.    BUNTLING- 

Daughter,  alike  my  comfort  and  my  pride, 
Put  faith  in  this  frank  thing  I  clothe  with  speech: 
Unflawed  is  thine  attire,  and  thou,  sweet  child, 
Beamest  a  star  of  modish  maidenhood. 

JANE. 

Most  glad  am  I ;    such  words  bring  grateful  peace : 
Lo,  now,  it  is  almost  eleven  o'clock. 
Our  invitations  named  the  hour  of  nine, 
Which  meant  eleven ;    the  guests  will  soon  arrive. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

See,  child,  your  honored  father  comes  this  way. 
Displeased  he  looks,  as  one  who  wears  with  pain 
Apparel  irksome  to  rebellious  limbs, 
Close-clinging  pantaloon  and  tight  dress-coat. 

MR.   BUNTLING. 

Hear  me,  O  Anastasia,  headstrong  wife, 
A  web  of  snares  about  thine  husband's  feet. 


io  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

So  much  this  high  stiff  collar  frets  my  neck, 

I  do  avow  I  will  not  wear  it  more. 

Ah,  woe  is  me,  that  am  so  poor  being  rich  ! 

MRS.   BUNTLING. 
That  man  is  poor  who  fears  to  spend  his  wealth. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
Hard  is  the  task  to  squeeze  good  gold  from  Pork. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
O  word  abominable !     Name  it  not ! 

MR.   BUNTLING. 
Fain  would  I  dine  at  noon  and  sup  at  six. 

MRS.   BUNTLING. 
With  such  low  tastes  from  Europe  you  return  ? 

MR.   BUNTLING. 
What's  Europe  but  a  nest  of  snobs  and  fools  ? 


THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL,  n 

MRS.    BUNTLING. 

Refrain  from  such  mad  phrase,  lest  thou  be  heard! 

MR.   BUNTLING. 
By  whom  ?     By  guests  who  know  nor  me  nor  thee? 

MRS.   BUNTLING. 
Soon  shall  I  know  them.     Money  rules  New  York. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
Nay,  I  have  heard  of  Knickerbockers  proud. 

MRS.   BUNTLING. 
They  once  were  proud  ;  now  money  is  their  god. 

MR.   BUNTLING. 
JTis  good  to  trace  from  Peter  Stuyvesant. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
'Tis  good  to  sup  on  terrapin  and  duck. 

MR.   BUNTLING. 
They,  too,  have  purses  fat ;  they  will  not  come. 


12  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

MRS.    BUNTLING. 

I  fear  not  this.     Five  millions  are  thy  gain. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
The  papers  cried  me  down  as  upstart  cad. 

MRS.   BUNTLING. 
They  did  ;  no  more  they  do  so;  I  have  paid. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
Bribe  as  thou  wilt ;  the  Press  will  say  its  say. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
The  Press  is  bought ;  all  scribblers  have  their  price. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
O  subtly  wise  of  women  !     I  succumb  ! 

JANE. 
Mamma!  Papa!  Cease  wrangling!  Lo,  our  guests! 

MR.  BUNTLING. 

True,  they  are  here.     I  fondly  had  supposed 
That  they  to  Anastasia's  bold  "  At  Home  " 


THE   BUNTLING   BALL.  13 

Would  not  respond.     Yet  greatly  have  I  erred, 
For  one  by  one  and  two  by  two  they  troop 
In  through  the  portals  of  our  drawing-room. 
They  know  not  Anastasia,  nor  yet  Jane, 
But  spite  of  this  they  nimbly  bow  and  smile. 
O  proud  New  York,  that  wast  New  Amsterdam, 
How  art  thou  fallen  away  from  dignity  ! 
Methinks  thy  Battery  and  thy  Bowling  Green 
Should  split  in  angered  earthquake  at  thy  shame! 
Thou,  too,  indignant  Peter,  shotildst  arise, 
A  shade  with  slim  clay  pipe  and  ligneous  leg, 
To  lay  thy  broad  staff  on  the  ungrateful  heads 
Of  these  thy  base  descendants,  them  that  love 
Gross  pelf  and  pander  to  the  parvenu  ! 
For  such  am  I,  even  such,  and  better  far 
The  laboring  Scythia's  westward-pointed  prow 
Nor  me  nor  mine  had  hither  borne  unscathed 
Through  the  strait  Narrows ;  but  that  either  strand 
Had  clashing  met,  and  whelmed  off  Sandy  Hook 
The  great  ship's  vigor  in  tumultuous  waves  ! 
Thus  were  averted  this  unseemly  Ball, 


14  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

Its  hollow  and  absurd  extravagance 
Checked  by  the  grim  economy  of  death  ! 

CHORUS  OF  KNICKERBOCKER  YOUNG  MEN. 

Old  man,  do  not  be  nonsensical 

In  your  views  about  New  York  ; 
You  are  needlessly  forensical 

For  a  potentate  in  Pork  ! 
Why  not  recollect  with  gratitude 

That  we  throng  your  mansion  wide, 
And  express  no  moral  platitude 

Upon  Knickerbocker  pride? 
Since  the  days  when  dull  old  Trinity 

Was  a  temple  far  up  town, 
And  a  girl  was  thought  divinity 

If  she  owned  but  one  silk  gown ; 
Since  the  days  when  each  festivity 

They  would  all  by  twelve  forsake, 
And  the  dominant  proclivity 

Was  for  lemonade-and-cake  ; 


1 6  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

Since  the  days  when  aristocracy 

Of  the  gender  known  as  male, 
Would  esteem  it  vain  plutocracy 

To  exploit  a  swallow-tail ; 
Since  the  days  when  custom's  manacle 

Was  a  bond  of  rigid  force, — 
Since  the  days  thus  puritanical, 

We  have  altered  things,  of  course. 
For  the  years  are  cruel  pillagers, 

As  they  lay  old  fashions  low, 
And  to  live  like  simple  villagers 

Is  no  longer  comme  il  faut. 
Our  progenitors  (peace  be  with  them  !) 

Were  a  very  stupid  lot, 
And  so  little  we  agree  with  them 

That  we  imitate  them  not. 
They  were  certainly  respectable, 

As  with  pride  we  now  declare, 
But  we  find  it  more  delectable 

If  we  draw  the  line  just  there. 
For  to  fling  aside  all  flattery, 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  17 

And  to  speak  as  hits  the  mark, 
They  were  narrow  as  the  Battery 

When  compared  with  Central  Park. 
And  if  now  they  had  their  say  to  us, 

They  would  turn  us  all,  we  fear, 
Into  office-clerks,  and  pay  to  us 

Hardly  anything  a  year. 
As  a  crowded  public  gallery 

To  a  soft  orchestral  chair, 
Is  the  youth  with  slender  salary 

To  the  dandy  debonair. 
We  delight  in  glossy  carriages, 

We  delight  in  garments  new  ; 
We  delight  in  wealthy  marriages, 

Though  the  bride's  blood  be  not  blue. 
We  enjoy  the  fumes  and  essences 

Of  cigars  whose  brands  excel ; 
We  adore  the  effervescences 

That  in  brandy-and-soda  dwell. 
We  abominate  proximity 

To  the  rules  that  fret  and  irk  ; 


1 8  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

We  detest  with  unanimity 

Any  earthly  kind  of  work. 
And  the  only  bonds  endurable 

To  the  class  we  represent, 
Are  the  sort  of  bonds  procurable 

At  from  five  to  eight  per  cent. 

MR.   BUNTLIXG. 

What  men  are  these  that  so  alertly  tell 
Their  follies  over,  like  monastic  beads? 
Expansive  spread  the  bosoms  of  their  shirts, 
Each  one  a  faultless  oval,  studded  bright 
With  gems  of  price,  while  snowy  at  their  throats, 
Below  the  collar's  high  pale  palisade, 
Nestles  the  formal  tie  of  virgin  lawn  ; 
Yet  these,  I  deem,  are  not  the  sturdy  race 
Our  bold  Republic  meant  to  bear  for  sons. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

I  pray,  Alonzo,  you  will  circulate 
Freely  among  our  guests,  nor  stand  aloof 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  19 

Muttering  moralities  that  ill  consort 

With  festal  hours,  and  mock  their  merry  lapse. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 

Nay,  Anastasia,  these  are  not  my  guests. 
Even  as  a  cat  in  a  strange  garret,  I  ! 
Even  as  a  fish  that  leaves  his  liquid  realm  ! 
Already  thrice  my  heated  countenance 
With  handkerchief  have  I  perspiring  mopped. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Mop  thou  not  thus  again.     'Tis  execrable. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 

The  crowded  floors  grow  hot.     Me  wretchedly 
My  tight  habiliments  annoy.     With  dread 
I  move  each  arm  lest  I  should  crack  a  seam. 
Ah !  would  that  I  were  standing,  free  of  limb, 
In  some  salubrious  bar-room  of  Broadway, 
With  amber  Bourbon  at  my  elbow  placed, 
And  jovial  company  on  either  hand, 
The  men  I  love,  rare  comrades  brisk  at  tales, 


20  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

Themselves  as  I  self-made  and  proud  of  this, 
Plebeian,  frank,  commercial,  hating  shams, 
Nor  quite  indifferent  to  the  price  of  pork  ! 

FIRST  GUEST. 
What  think  you  thus  far  of  the  Buntling  Ball  ? 

SECOND  GUEST. 
I  like  it  not.     I  would  we  had  not  come. 

FIRST  GUEST. 
Nay,  wife,  thou  art  too  ready  to  condemn. 

SECOND  GUEST. 

Nay,  husband,  it  is  infamously  mixed. 
True,  there  are  people  here  whom  I  have  seen 
At  most  select  assemblages  of  old. 
But  thou  and  I  should  be  particular, 
Nor  tempt  the  wayward  Fates  by  reckless  deeds. 
Still  are  we  on  the  threshold,  as  you  know, 
Of  good  society ;  though  thy  name  has  grown 
A  tower  and  watchword  of  Monopoly, 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL,  21 

Thy  millions  have  provoked  important  gibes 

From  that  loud  sheet,  The  Morning  Slanderer, 

Thus  aiding  thee  and  me  to  reign  erewhile 

As  haughty  leaders.     Peradventure,  too, 

When    Spring's   first   shy  bud   breaks,  thou    shalt 

become 

A  member  of  the  sacred  Union  Club, 
By  no  stern  black-ball  contravened,  for  there 
Monopolists  are  loved,  and  willing  doors 
On  easy  hinges  to  their  advent  swing. 
But  we  have  erred  in  coming  to  this  Ball, 
Since  our  position  still  is  perilous.  .  .    . 
Let  us  get  hence  ;  the  revel  yet  is  young. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 

"  Let  us  get  hence".  .  .  what  word  was  that  I  caught? 
Ah  me  !  if  I  should  slip  on  stealthy  foot 
Out  at  mine  own  door,  and  so  gain  the  sweet 
Municipal  starlight,  and  with  glad  gait  seek 
That  bright  hotel  they  name  the  Hoffman  House! 
There  could  I  brace  my  sinking  courage  well 


22  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL, 

With  one  big  genial  draught,  and  thence  return 
Ere  Anastasia  guessed  .  .  .  Fate  wills  ;  I  go  ! 

MRS.  BUXTLING. 

What  man  is  here,  scarce  clad  in  seemly  garb, 
Soliciting  my  heed  with  sidelong  look  ? 

A  REPORTER. 

Lady,  thy  lowly  servitor  am  I, 
Reporter  on  the  Morning  Slanderer. 
My  manuscript  is  here.     Wouldst  read  and  give 
Approval  ere  it  speeds  to  public  print  ? 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

Tis  well.     Draw  closer  back,  below  the  spray 
Of  this  green- shadowing  cactus  near  the  arch. 
Now  reach  thy  hand,  and  let  my  rapid  gaze 
Devour  what  thou  hast  writ  .  .  .   Ah,  well  indeed 
Thou  hast  earned  thy  wage,  good  henchman  of  the 

Press  ! 

I  like  thy  florid  language,  and  I  like 
Thine  accurate  description  of  my  robe. 


THE  BUNTL1NG  BALL. 


23 


"The  Buntling  Ball  a  wonderful  success  .  .  ." 
"  New  York's  elite  all  gathered  in  great  throng 
To  welcome  home  a  brilliant  social  queen  .   .   ." 


24  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

"  Miss  Jane,  the  only  daughter,  dressed  in  blue, 

With  pearls  and  sapphires  on  her  creamy  neck  .  .  . 

*'  Then,  too,  the  stately  flawless-mannered  host, 

Mr.  Alonzo  Buntling,  with  a  smile 

Of  salutation  exquisite  for  all  ..." 

Ah,  thou  hast  admirably  done  !     Enough  ; 

Seek,  ere  thou  goest,  the  butler;  him  command 

To  give  thee  of  thy  fill  in  Pommery  Sec 

And  whatsoever  viand  thy  palate  craves. 

Eat,  drink  ;  it  is  thy  rightful  meed.     Farewell. 

REPORTER. 

Lady,  I  thank  thee.     Journalism  bows 
To  Opulence  and  Beauty. 

MRS.   BUNTLING. 

Thank  me,  sir, 

No  thanks,  but  quaff  and  feast  with  happy  heart ; 
And  may  the  awful  future  hold  for  thee 
An  editorial  chair. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  25 

REPORTER. 

O  ecstasy ! 
Deep  in  my  breast  henceforth  I  wear  that  hope. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

So  wear  it.     None  may  truly  prophesy. 
Men  are  but  sportive  drift  on  seas  of  chance. 


CHORUS  OF  MANEUVERING  MAMMAS. 

With  subtle  scheming 
Our  brains  are  teeming; 
No  idle  dreaming 
Our  bosoms  know. 
Observers  wily 
We  notice  slyly, 
And  value  highly 
The  moneyed  beau. 


26  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

They  blame  us  greatly, 
And  say  sedately 
The  matron  stately 

Should  caste  revere  ; 
But  we,  hard-fated, 
Are  actuated 
To  have  well-mated 

Our  daughters  dear. 

Far  less  than  falter, 
We  may  not  alter 
Nor  yet  would  palter 

With  precepts  dread. 
If  girls  must  marry 
Tom,  Dick,  or  Harry, 
Why  need  they  tarry 

Till  youth  has  fled  ? 

"Tis  clearly  better 
To  clinch  the  fetter 
By  word  or  letter, 
By  speech  or  pen  ; 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  27 

And  so,  most  wary, 
We  mark  how  vary 
For  Maud  or  Mary 
The  moods  of  men. 

With  magic  potion 
The  shy  emotion 
Of  their  devotion 

We  cannot  sway; 
By  means  more  slender 
We  strive  to  render 
The  trifler  tender 

A  fiance. 

The  art  Circean 
Is  now  plebeian, 
The  spell  Medean 

Has  lost  its  vogue  ; 
But  smiling  sweetly 
And  planning  neatly, 
We  trap  completely 

The  careful  rogue. 


28  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

Before  he  guesses 
That  fond  addresses 
And  light  caresses 

May  vows  evoke, 
Without  a  blunder, 
As  lawful  plunder, 
We  push  him  under 

The  marriage-yoke. 

Our  tricks  to  mention 
Of  tact,  invention, 
We've  no  intention 

Nor  any  wish  ; 
But  quite  demurely 
And  most  securely 
(Believe  it  surely) 
,          We  land  our  fish  ! 

JANE. 

How  bitter  sounds  their  frigid  worldliness ! 
Steel  struck  on  ice  gives  not  a  harsher  note. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  29 

I  loathe  it  all,  yet  she,  my  mother,  trusts 

Entirely  in  my  fealty  to  herself. 

Hypocrisy  unspeakable  is  mine; 

I  act  a  part,  and  am  not  what  I  seem. 

These  six  bouquets,  sent  by  myself,  are  borne 

As  mask  and  sham,  concealing  my  true  will. 

For  I  desire  no  vain  supremacy 

In  ranks  of  fashion,  but  my  soul  has  bowed 

In  reverent  homage  to  Leander  Briggs. 

Obscure  is  my  Leander  ;  we  have  met 

But  thrice  ;  he  is  a  dry-goods  clerk, 

Yet  his  pure,  lofty  soul  towers  high  above 

The  gross  necessities  of  dry-goods  ;  he 

Is  nobly  eminent,  a  man  of  men. 

Would  he  were  here   to-night !  .  .       I    dream    his 

eyes 
Now  gaze  upon  me  in  regretful  scorn. 

LEANDER  BRIGGS. 

Jane,  loveliest  of  all  womankind !  I  dare 
To  greet  thee ;  I  am  insolently  here! 


30  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

JANE. 
Here  !     Thou,  Leander  ?     Thou  art  here  to-night  ? 

LEANDER. 
I  am. 

JANE. 
By  invitation  ? 

LEANDER. 

Nay,  without. 

JANE. 
What  means  this  unsurpassed  audacity  ? 

LEANDER. 
Nay,  hearken   ere  thou  blame.     Since   that  sweet 

hour 

When  thou  didst  purchase  two  yards  of  pink  silk 
Of  Meares  and  Company,  a  fierce  wild  flame 
Seems  burning  this  poor  heart  of  mine  to  ash. 
No  more  for  me  my  boarding-house  allures 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  31 

When  the  long  dining-table  buzzes  high 

With  social  chat  and  gossip  thrives  elate. 

No  more  to  me  the  obdurate  beefsteak 

Nor  yet  the  sinewy  chop  seem  tender  viands, 

For  healthful  appetite  has  fled  my  life, 

And  ills  that  were  not  ills  now  monstrous  loom. 

Never  again  the  unpalatable  bread, 

The  inferior  butter,  the  imporous  tart, 

The  gravy  turned  conglomerate,  nor  the  soup 

O'erfilmed  with  lucid  grease,  can  satisfy. 

Always  henceforth  I  yearn  toward  better  things. 

The  huge  emporium,  with  its  clamors  coarse, 

Its  mercantile  vulgarity,  its  yells 

Of  "cash,"  its  haggling  customers,  its  air 

Of  sordid  discipline,  repels  and  shocks. 

The  "  Rosebud  Sociable,"  where  once  a  week 

I  danced  with  jovial  friends  of  either  sex 

In  unaristocratic  jollity, 

Has  lost  all  charm ;  the  gay  Church  Festival, 

With  tableaux  and  innocuous  claret-punch, 

Fails  likewise  to  allure.     Thy  face,  thine  eyes, 


32  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

Thy  presence,  haunt  me  with  distracting  force. 
And  therefore  I  am  here.     O  pity  me ! 

JANE. 

That  morn,  when  I  made  purchase  of  pink  silk 
Of  Mearesand  Company,  I  will  avow, 
Was  bright  with  new  and  strange  experience. 

LEANDER. 

Again  didst  thou  appear.     Again  pink  silk 
I  measured  for  thee  with  unsteady  hand. 

JANE. 
True.     And  once  more  we  met !     'Twas  Friday  last. 

LEANDER. 
Thou  dost  recall  the  day  ?     O  happiness  ! 

0  day  most  memorable !     O  Broadway  car, 
Wherein  we  met !     O  fateful  interview  ! 

JANE. 

1  learned  thy  name,  and  answered  with  mine  own. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  33 

LEANDER. 

We  left  the  car.     We  strolled  in  quiet  streets, 
Enthralled  by  dreamy  converse,  each  with  each. 

JANE. 

'Twas  terribly  imprudent.     I  repent 
Mine  act.     I  told  thee  all.     No  detail  did  I  spare. 
I  told  thee  of  my  proud  and  cold  mamma ; 
I  told  thee  of  my  democratic  sire  ; 
I  told  thee  of  the  future  Buntling  Ball. 

LEANDER. 

Thou  didst.     And  eagerly  I  listened,  too; 
And  passionately  I  responded,  soon; 
And  ere  we  parted  I  had  made  resolve 
To  win  thee  as  my  bride,  and  sworn  my  love. 

JANE. 

We  cannot  wed.     Thine  act  is  desperate 
In  coming  hither.     If  mamma  should  dream 
What  man  thou  really  art,  her  wrath  would  fall 
Alike  on  me  and  thee  with  fearful  weight. 


34  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

She  wills  that  I  shall  wed  some  haughtier  name, 
Some  man  with  old  Dutch  blood,  though  lean  of 

purse. 

Yea,  she  would  stare  on  thee  with  ireful  eyes, 
To  know  thee  as  a  guest  unbidden  of  her, 
And  straightway  she  would  give  austere  commands 
For  thine  ejection  :  wherefore,  tarry  not, 
But  go  at  once,  nor  even  delay  to  taste 
The  succulent  oyster  and  the  bronze-brown  quail. 

LEANDER. 

Quail  me  no  quails,  O  thou  supremely  loved! 
Nay,  oyster  me  no  oysters,  cruel  heart  ! 
I  have  braved  for  thee  expulsion's  biting  shame, 
And  bitter  indeed  this  welcome  that  I  get. 
Is  love  so  weak  in  thy  chill  maiden  breast 
That  fear  can  slay  it  thus,  nor  lightly  let 
One  meagre  smile  pass  faintlier  o'er  thy  lips 
Than  silvery  gleams  of  sky  in  bleak  sere  lands  ? 
Hast  thou  no  boon,  no  little  tender  boon, 
That  I  departing  may  depart  withal  ? 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  35 

No  timorous  palpitance  of  moistened  lid, 
No  transitory  touch  of  palm  to  palm, 
No  last  brief  look  of  love  immeasurable, 
Blossoming  between  thine  eyelids  and  thine  eyes? 

JANE. 
Whence  hast  thou  caught  such  warm-hued  trick  of 

speech  ? 

Thine  eloquence  is  like  the  bloomful  chintz 
That  florid,  sanguine,  gorgeous,  hangs  for  sale 
Above  thy  counter  at  the  Meares  bazaar. 

LEANDER. 

Let  me  go  hence.     I  think  I  shall  not  live 
A  great    while,    now.     When   thou  shalt  hear   the 

news 

That  I  am  dead  at  Number  Twenty-Blank 
West  Thirty-Seventh  Street,  front  room,  third  floor, 
I  pray  of  you  to  bear  it  well  in  mind 
That  I  particularly  do  request 
No  flowers  be  sent.     Such  act  were  mockery. 


36  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

JANE. 
Nay,  not  if  black  death  veil  thine  eyes  in  truth. 

LEANDER. 
Flowers  are  for  those  who  leave  sweet  memories. 

JANE. 
Thy  memory  would  bide  sweet  if  I  still  lived. 

LEANDER. 
Live  shalt  thou,  for  no  grief  would  make  thee  die. 

JANE. 

Great  grief  would  melt  my  heart.     Of  this  thou  art 
sure. 

LEANDER. 
Sure  am  I  not.     Thou  speakest  weightless  words. 

JANE. 
As  an  ice-cream  on  a  warm  plate  am  I. 

LEANDER. 
Thou  meanest  that  thy  spirit  bids  me  stay  ? 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  37 

JANE. 
I  neither  bid  thee  stay  nor  bid  thee  go. 

LEANDER. 
Wrapped  is  thy  meaning  in  obscure  retorts. 

JANE. 
Have  care  ;  mamma  approaches  ;  thou  art  seen. 

LEANDER. 
Seen  am  I  ?    Yet  being  seen  I  shall  not  heed. 

JANE. 
Not  heeding  thou  shalt  do  most  grievous  things. 

LEANDER. 

So  shall  I  then  not  heed,  imploring  thee 
To  fly  with  me  this  very  night  and  seek 
A  clergyman,  who  straight  will  make  us  one. 

JANE. 
Mamma  draws  near.      What  folly  hast  thou  said  ? 


38  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

LEANDER. 
I  have  said  no  folly.     t>ost  thou  deem  it  such  ? 

JANE. 
Should  I  do  this  mad  thing,  I  must  get  wraps. 

LEANDER. 
Sealskin  and  wool  thou  verily  must  get. 

JANE. 

Get  them  I  would  if  courage  failed  me  not. 
Yet  hark  !     What  mean  those  voices  loudly  raised  ? 

CHORUS  OF  SOCIAL  STRUGGLERS. 

In  the  dim  beginning  of  years, 

In  the  dumb  blind  yearning  of  earth, 
There  were  Saurian  shapes,  it  appears, 

Of  huge  and  exorbitant  girth. 
These  invertebrates,  awful  to  view, 

Were  by  no  means  a  matter  for  scoff, 
While  our  planet,  as  yet  rather  new, 

Geologically  cooled  off. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  39 

But  still,  as  they  wallowed  in  slime 

And  on  mammoths  inferior  fared, 
With  man,  the  last  product  of  time, 

They  are  not  to  be  classed  or  compared. 
And  yet  it  would  wake  no  amaze 

To  discover  that  creatures  like  these 
Were  divided  in  various  ways 

By  preadamite  social  degrees. 
For  if  man  is  the  product  obscure 

Of  the  ages  before  he  began, 
Very  likely  such  monsters  impure 

Bore  a  certain  resemblance  to  man. 
And  if  this  be  the  case,  we  might  deem 

That  the  sole  similarity  lay 
In  an  antediluvian  scheme 

Of  an  organized  haute  volee. 
For  since  the  least  animal  life 

This  terrestrial  globe  brought  to  view, 
The  doctrine  of  rank  has  been  rife, 

And  the  code  "  I  am  better  than  you." 


40  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

Twas  in  Egypt,  four  thousand  years  past, 

Very  much  as  to-day  it  is  seen ; 
No  democracy  yet  has  killed  caste, 

No  rebellion,  and  no  guillotine. 
And  therefore  in  choric  accord 

Confessing  our  effort  and  pain, 
We  think  we  can  safely  afford 

To  state  how  we  struggle  and  strain. 
We  have  pushed,  we  have  elbowed  with  might; 

We  have  scrambled  and  striven  with  zeal ; 
There  is  no  sort  of  possible  slight 

We've  allowed  ourselves  really  to  feel. 
We  have  entered  at  doors  where  we  knew 

That  our  presence  unwelcome  would  pass, 
Yet  have  dauntlessly  carried  things  through 

By  a  solid  assumption  of  brass. 
We  have  witnessed  from  hostess  or  host 

The  crudest  scorn  they  could  show, 
But  have  never  permitted,  at  most, 

An  idea  that  we  might  be  de  trop. 


THE   BUNTLING  BALL.  41 

We  are  snubbed,  yet  we  never  much  mind ; 

Affronts  we  accept,  bold  or  sly  ; 
We  are  constantly  seeking  to  find 

A  patron  or  patroness  high. 
You  may  frown  ;  we  responsively  cringe  : 

You  may  hate;  we  will  merely  repine. 
On  our  self-respect  you  may  impinge, 

But  though  sad  we  will  ask  you  to  dine. 
If  you  wound  us,  perchance  we  may  bleed, 

Yet  the  blood  is  clandestinely  shed ; 
We  desire  that  our  sons  may  succeed ; 

We  desire  that  our  daughters  may  wed. 
We  desire  that  our  husbands  and  wives 

May  be  pushed  along,  high  and  still  higher  ; 
We  are  all,  through  our  feverish  lives, 

In  perpetual  state  of  desire. 
We  are  certain  the  realms  that  we  seek 

An  insipid  frivolity  rules, 
And  at  least  seven  times  every  week 

We  remind  ourselves  that  we  are  fools. 


42  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

But  in  spite  of  such  wholesome  disdain, 
With  a  fervor  'twere  false  to  deny, 

We  incessantly  struggle  and  strain, 

We  shall  struggle  and  strain  till  we  die. 

MRS.    BUNTLING. 

As  a  bow  that  is  bent, 

Are  determined  their  deeds  ; 
As  a  shaft  that  is  sent, 

So  their  energy  speeds, 

And  the  might  of  their  snobbery  riots  as  a  tangled 
and  poisonous  weed's. 

SEMICHORUS  OF  SOCIAL  STRUGGLERS, 

As  the  famishing  lip 

When  it  yearns  after  food, 

As  the  homeward-bound  ship 

When  by  tempest  pursued, 

So  beyond  Aristocracy's  portals  we  daringly   long 
to  intrude. 


^mwM^  e  ^m^Kwm 


MRS.    BUNTLING. 

They    are    guilty    of 

guile, 
They  are  reckless  of 

ruth ; 
For     deception     and 

wile 
They    abandon    all 

truth; 

They  are  clad  with  impervious  cuticle,  rhinoceroses 
forsooth  ! 

SEMICHORUS. 

At  the  verge  of  a  shrine, 
At  a  goddess's  feet, 


44  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

Our  brows  we  incline 

And  in  worship  compete, 

As  we  bring  to  the  idol  our  tributes,  our  offerings 
many  and  sweet. 

MRS.   BUNTLING. 

She  is  cold,  she  is  calm, 

This  goddess  ye  name  ; 
From  your  suppliant  palm 

Great  gifts  will  she  claim  ; 

Ye  must  serve  her  with  dinners  and  banquets,  with 
wines  of  pre-eminent  fame. 

SEMICHORUS. 

The  aromas  that  rise 

From  her  altar  must  tell 
Of  those  dainty  supplies 

The  bon  vivant  loves  well, 

Out  of  kitchens  Delmoniconian,  where  the  poets  of 
cookery  dwell. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  45 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
To  her  priests  ye  shall  bear 
Half  the  incomes  ye  hold, 
To  her  priestesses  fair 

Floral  treasures  untold, 

Yea,  the  Jacqueminot  red  as  your  heart's-blood,  the 
Marshal  Niel  hued  like  your  gold. 

SEMICHORUS. 

These  boons  we  have  brought, 
And  will  bring  them  again, 
Till  the  heed  we  have  sought 

We  shall  proudly  attain, 

As  reward  for  the  canvas-back  roasted,  the  libation 
of  costly  champagne. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
If  my  loyalty  swerves, 

Make  it  stanch,  I  adjure  .  .  . 
To  the  rich  man  who  serves 

Will  his  guerdon  be  sure, 


46  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

Though   he   sternly   has   trampled  on   pity,  though 
his  heart  no  humanity  lure? 

SEMICHORUS. 

Such  a  man  for  his  prize, 
As  we  haste  to  declare, 
In  the  goddess's  eyes 

Holy  merit  shall  wear  .  .   . 

Though  a  millionaire  cry  "Damn  the   people,"  'tis 
condoned  if  he  be  millionaire. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
After  heart-break  and  sigh 

From  December  till  May, 
After  much  humble-pie 
Swallowed  every  day, 

Does  it  pay  to  have  striven  and  conquered  ?     O  ye 
that  yet  strive,  does  it  pay  ? 

SEMICHORUS. 
We  can  give  you  aright 

Neither  praise  nor  dispraise 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  47 

Of  the  goal  whose  delight 

Still  recedes  from  our  gaze; 

Yet  with  confident  spirit,  O  lady,  we  respond  that 
we  do  think  it  pays. 


MRS.  BUNTLING. 

When  all  has  been  done, 

When  no  more  is  to  do, 
What  has  truly  been  won  ? 
What  shall  truly  accrue  ? 

O  respond,  is  it  worth  having  aimed  at,  or  all  cock- 
adoodledoo  ? 

SEMICHORUS. 

From  reports  we  have  heard 
We  can  answer  you  thus  : 
It  has  all  been  averred 
A  preposterous  fuss, 

Where  the  mountain  is  constantly  groaning,  to  bear 
the  ridiculus  mus. 


48  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

MRS.    BUNTLING. 

Then  why  do  ye  yearn 

Without  pause  or  surcease, 
Like  to  captives  that  burn 
For  benignant  release  ? 

Or  is  it  a  mere  monomania,  a  bedlamish  kind  of 
caprice  ? 

SEMICHORUS. 
O  lady,  our  craze 

Is  absurd,  we  admit, 
By  a  singular  phase 
Of  dementia  hit; 

But  to  state  the  mere  fact  of  our  lunacy,  alas,  will 
not  help  it  a  bit. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Are  not  they  the  most  blest 

Whose  affections  incline 
To  the  home  as  a  nest 

Where  all  comforts  entwine? 


THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL.  49 

To  the  kiss  matrimonial  at   six,  and  the  slippers 
made  ready  at  nine  ? 

SEMICHORUS. 
Nay,  the  goddess  ordains, 

Lest  ye  shrink  from  her  strife, 
That  each  votary  gains 

Her  abhorrence  through  life, 

If  the  wife  pay  regard  to  her  husband,  or  the  hus 
band  show  love  for  his  wife. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

Must  a  husband  be  cold? 

Must  a  wife  seem  untrue? 
What  ye  calmly  unfold 

As  the  course  to  pursue, 

Is  excessively  wrong  and  improper,  regarded  from 
my  point  of  view. 

SEMICHORUS. 
Forbear  thus  to  rail ; 
Forbear  thus  to  storm. 


50  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

The  female  and  male, 

Though  their  wedlock  be  warm, 
Must  meet  as  acquaintances  merely,  since  more  is 
considered  bad  form. 


MRS.   BUNTLING. 

But  may  not  such  plan 

Bring  calamitous  hurt  ? 
May  a  full-wedded  man 

With  a  wedded  wife  flirt  ? 

Does  New  York  aristocracy  boldly  all  moral  exam 
ples  desert  ? 

SEMICHORUS. 

Propriety  awes, 

Beyond  question  or  doubt, 
And  her  obdurate  laws 

It  is  folly  to  flout ; 

Yet  recall  the  Eleventh  Commandment,  which  runs, 
"Thou  shalt  not  be  found  out." 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  51 

MRS.   BUNTLING. 
I  am  shocked,  I  am  dazed 

By  the  words  you  employ; 
All  my  soul  is  amazed 

That  you  jestingly  toy 

With  principles  cherished  from  childhood,  as  talis 
man,  safeguard  and  joy. 

SEMICHORUS. 
They  that  foothold  would  seek 

Past  the  great  social  dam, 
Must  consent  to  be  meek 

As  an  innocent  lamb; 

They  must  bow  their  heads  tamely,  devoutly,   in 
humble  submission  to  sham. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Is  there  nothing  sincere 

In  the  creeds  you  adore  ? 
Are  the  aims  you  revere 

Utter  fraud  and  no  more  ? 


52  THE  BUN  TUNG  J3ALL. 

If  you  care  to  be  natural,  honest,  are  you  voted  at 
once  as  a  bore  ? 

SEMICHORUS. 
In  the  big  masquerade 

Of  pretension  and  pelf, 
You  are  sure  to  be  laid 

Very  soon  on  the  shelf, 

If  you  have  the  audacious  candor  to  appear  repre 
senting  Yourself. 

MRS.  BUNTLIXG. 
So  be  it,  if  so  inflexibly  it  is. 
Who  shall  put  bridle  in  the  teeth  of  Fate? 
Who  shall  control  Society's  dread  laws  ? 
Nay,  ye  that  struggle  with  such  ardent  stress, 
I  am  touched  by  pity  of  your  eager  needs. 
And  yet  take  courage  ;  banish  dark  despair; 
Are  ye  not  here  at  this  the  Buntling  Ball  ? 
"Pis  true  the  assemblage  is  not  quite  select, 
Being  large  beyond  the  common  festal  scope. 


THE   BUNTLING  BALL.  53 

Still,  I  have  found  ye  on  trustworthy  lists, 
Obtained  from  Jones,  the  managerial  one, 
Who  served  as  clerk  of  the  dead  sexton,  Brown. 
Poor  Brown  (peace  rest  him  !)  knew  with  search 
ing  ken 

The  grades  of  difference  in  all  families 
Whose  carriages  for  half  a  century 
He  had  called  at  weddings,  funerals,  and  balls. 
Now  Jones  succeeds  him,  honest,  capable, 
No  man  of  bluster  and  obesity, 
As  thus  I  am  told  his  predecessor,  Brown, 
Completely  was  ;  but  he  has  given  me  all 
The  names  considered  of  decisive  note  ; 
And  therefore  ye  were  hospitably  asked 
By  me,  not  knowing  if  ye  were  high  or  low, 
To  swell  this  gorgeous  throng;  but  subtle  time, 
Whose  face  is  old  yet  whose  deceits  are  young, 
May  land  ye  safe  on  heights  of  proud  success, 
If  patiently  ye  push  as  heretofore. 
Push  with  good  hope  and  fear  not ;  ye  shall  win 
The  calm  delectable  summit  ere  ye  guess. 


54  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

And  as  for  sham,  if  sham  be  god,  bow  low 

In  reverential  homage  unto  sham. 

Frank  speech  is  well  and  lying  tongues  are  ill, 

If  ordinary  cares  engross  the  thought. 

But  now  extraordinary  indeed  is  this, 

The  attempted  altitude  of  fine  prestige 

Ye  fain  would  climb,  to  dwell  on  its  far  slopes, 

In  unassailable  serenity, 

Deaf  to  the  cries  of  them  that  fare  below. 

Once,  as  ye  will  recall,  ye  cried  like  them, 

And  no  one  heeded ;  those  to  ye  were  deaf 

As  ye  to  these  one  day  shall  also  prove. 

Then  shall  your  hour  of  conquest  dawn  and  smile  ; 

Then  shall  ye  tingle  with  untold  content, 

Remembering  that  through  honest  vassalage 

To  fraud,  servility,  hypocrisy, 

Ye  gained  the  haughty  hold  ye  then  shall  claim. 

Speed  ye,  poor  strugglers,  rich  yet  sadly  poor, 

In  this  your  firm  unflinching  enterprise. 

For  I  am  with  ye,  I  am  one  of  ye, 

Even  I,  who  also  would  attain  your  goal 


THE   BUNTLING  BALL.  55 

And  reign  among  the  socially  elect. 

Bitter  yet  brief  should  be  the  contest  waged ; 

Nor  I  nor  mine  shall  falter;  Jane,  my  child, 

Will  aid  me,  heiress  to  colossal  wealth. 

For  Jane  is  loyal,  and  most  filial,  too ; 

Whom  I  would  will  to  have  her  wed  she  straight 

Will  acquiesce  in  meekly  wedding ;  thus 

New  power  will  come  from  her  alliance  proud, 

For  proud  it  shall  be  past  all  dream  of  doubt. 

SEMICHORUS. 
Where  is  your  Jane  ? 

Why  has  she  fled  from  us  ? 
Jane,  we  maintain, 

Hides  her  sweet  head  from  us. 
Does  she  dislike  us  ?  has  she  a  fear  of  us  ? 
People  will  sometimes,  as  soon  as  they  hear  of  us, 
Turn  with  a  sort  of  an  ominous  dread  from  us. 
Jane,  we  explain, 
Thinking  us  vain, 
Thinking  us  vapid  and  selfish  and  frivolous, 


56  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

Jane,  it  is  plain, 
With  her  disdain 
Doubtless  would  mortify,  wither  and  shrivel  us. 

MRS.     BUNTLING. 

You  err  in  dreaming  that  my  daughter  seeks 
To  avoid  you.     Every  guest  in  her  regard 
Is  equal.     She  has  marked  no  difference 
In  social  grades;  that  knowledge  will  result 
Later,  when  suitors  throng  with  rivalries 
Of  adulation  and  their  various  claims 
As  eligible  bachelors  beam  out 
Clear,  like  the  larger  stars  in  twilight  heavens. 
Experience  also  of  your  womankind 
Will  soon  enlighten  both  herself  and  me 
Regarding  whom  to  flatter,  whom  to  hold 
At  decorous  distance,  whom  to  snub  outright. 
But  now  her  snobbery,  like  a  lily's  bud, 
Sheathed  in  green  ignorance,  is  immature, 
Indefinite,  undetermined.      Credit  me, 
Her  absence  means  but  some  stray  accident, 


THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 


57 


Perchance  a  mutinous  ambuscaded  pin, 
Perchance   the   abrupt  keen  twinge   of   tight-shod 
foot. 

SEMICHORUS. 

Jane,  as  we  learn, 

Is  not  absent  at  all. 
Her  we  discern 

Just  at  hand,  within  call. 
There  from  the  alcove's  obscurity 
Glimmers  her  maidenly  purity, 
While,  amid  fancied  security, 
Held  in  agreeable  thrall. 
Who  is  the  gentleman  near  to  her  ? 
Is  he  a  personage  dear  to  her  ? 
Is  he  a  gallant 
Of  fortune  and  talent, 
Reviving  some  old  souvenir  to  her? 
Surely  a  delicate  mystery 
Shrouds  their  acquaintance's  history. 
Where  did  they  meet  the  last  time  ? 


58  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

Was  it  in  pain  or  in  pastime  ? 

Why  does  he  press  with  such  eagerness 
Her  hand  in  its  glove-encased  meagreness? 
Why  are  her  soft  eyelids  fluttering  ? 

Why  do  the  pink  blushes  warm  her  so  ? 
What  is  he  tenderly  uttering  ? 
Is  he  insane 

With  a  passion  for  Jane, 
And  does  he  at  present  inform  her  so? 

JANE. 

Forbear,  Leander.     Look,  we  are  observed. 
Your  eloquence  is  awful  in  its  force; 
Never  since  earliest  girlhood  have  I  known 
Such  power  of  human  speech.     They  took  me,  once, 
To  a  great  wood  in  some  suburban  place 
Not  far  from  famed  Chicago.     There  I  heard 
A  preacher  at  camp-meeting.     He  was  black, 
But  oh,  the  fervor  of  his  rhetoric 
Dwells  in  my  memory  still  .  .  .  He  spoke  like  you, 
Though  less  grammatically,  I  admit. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  59 

LEANDER. 

And  you  will  fly?     Oh,  love  irresolute, 
Why  hang  my  soul  on  indecision's  thread, 
That  perilous  film-like  bridge  o'er  dark  despair, 
Slung  between  Yes  and  No  at  either  side  ? 

JANE. 

Now  half  consenting, 
Anon  refusing, 

Yet  always  thrilling, 
In  doubt  I  stay. 

LEANDER. 
At  last  relenting, 

My  counsel  choosing, 
O  maid  unwilling, 
Decide,  I  pray  ! 

JANE. 

The  days  romantic 
Have  passed  forever  ; 


6o  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

Eloping  mortals 
Are  not  the  mode. 

LEANDER. 

When  love  is  frantic 
It  enters  ever 

The  church's  portals 
By  any  road. 

JANE. 

I  like  a  marriage 

With  music  pealing, 
With  flowers  bridal, 
With  veil  and  cake. 

LEANDER. 

You  so  disparage 
My  ardent  feeling 
That  suicidal 
Intentions  wake. 


THE    BUNTLING  BALL.  61 

JANE. 

I  like  a  wedding 

With  bridemaids  merry, 
With  gay  collection 
Of  guests  urbane. 

LEANDER. 

Your  words  are  shedding, 
O  Jane,  a  very 
Severe  dejection 
O'er  heart  and  brain. 

JANE. 
I  hate  to  marry 

(Forgive  my  candor) 
AVith  no  surrounding 
Of  nice  expense. 

LEANDER. 

Your  statements  carry 
To  your  Leander 


62  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

Alarm  astounding 
And  pain  intense. 

JANE. 

Girls  will  be  girls,  Leander.     We  are  made 
In  different  wise  from  ye,  and  cannot  help 
Desire  for  nuptial  pomp  when  we  are  wed. 
No  day  in  all  a  girl's  life  equals  one — 
Her  wedding-day.     And  yet,  I  will  be  brave. 
If  strategy  can  aid  me  to  steal  forth, 
Following  your  supplications,  I  will  go. 

LEANDER. 

Dear  acquiescent  Jane !     And  yet  I  trace 
Reluctant  resignation  in  your  phrase. 

JANE. 

Farewell  the  great  church-organ's  mellow  boom 
Farewell  the  long  train  shimmering  up  the  aisle 
Farewell  the  point-lace  drapery  richly  hung 
Down  o'er  the  neck  bediamonded  bright ; 
Farewell  the  attendant  maidens,  the  bouquets, 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  63 

The  subsequent  reception — farewell  all  ! 
Well  do  I  fare,  perchance,  in  thy  true  love, 
Since  brides  that  have  no  love  like  thine  fare  ill. 
Yet  sweet  it  were  to  wed  thee  not  by  stealth, 
But  openly,  engirt  with  joyful  guests, 
And  feel,  departing  in  my  travelling-robe, 
A  storm  of  slippers  pelt  the  carriage-roof. 

LEANDER. 
Still  thou  wilt  go,  heeding  thy  promise  given. 

JANE. 
Yes,  I  will  go,  if  subtlest  guile  can  serve. 

LEANDER. 
Your  mother  sets  her  glance  upon  my  face, 

JANE. 

Retire,  nor  fail  in  speed,  though  let  thy  mien 
Betray  no  fugitive  intent  or  aim. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

Daughter,  what  gentleman  was  he  who  ceased 
A  moment  since  from  converse  with  thyself  ? 


^4  THE  BUNTLIXG  BALL. 

JANE. 

Nay,  how  should  I  know  rightly,  dear  mamma  ? 
He  named  his  name,  yet  memory  loses  it. 

MRS.   BUNTLTNG. 

His  air  and  costume  lacked  patrician  grace. 

JANE. 

I  thought  not  thus.     He  seemed  the  same  as  they 
Who  smile  bland  smiles  on  every  side  of  us, 
Though  possibly  the  parting  of  his  hair 
Had  less  of  mathematic  symmetry; 
Perchance  his  boots  were  of  less  dazzling  gloss. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

I  thought  he  wore  white  satin  at  his  throat, 
Above  a  shirt  with  rich  embroidery 
Densely  encrusted.     If  this  thing  be  true, 
I  doubt  his  right  to  rank  among  my  guests, 
And  fancy  him  a  shrewd  impostor,  Come 
Hither  audaciously  without  a  card. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  65 

JANE. 
Such  fancy  were  injustice,  oh,  be  sure. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

He  did  not  bear  the  same  sleek  dapper  mien 
As  yonder  gentleman,  whose  name  I  know, 
Florimel  Filigree,  a  personage 
Who  is  assumably  professional, 
Like  our  musicians  and  our  caterers. 
For  I  have  learned  that  he  is  wont  to  lead 
The  German  at  festivities  like  these. 

JANE. 

Yet  therefore  not  professional,  perhaps. 
Beware,  mamma,  lest  thou  shouldst  rashly  err. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

Nay,  wherefore  should  the  leader  of  one's  band 
Be  paid,  the  leader  of  one's  German  not  ? 
Daughter,  thy  knowledge  of  society 
Here  in  New  York  is  vaguer  than  my  own, 


66  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

Though  mine,  I  will  accede,  is  yet  obscure. 
Forbear  to  urge  false  views,  and  credit  mine, 
Since  none  of  stouter  verity  hast  thou. 

JANE. 

(Would  I  could  slip  with  steps  unnoted  hence, 

Gain  my  own  chamber,  covertly  change  dress, 

And  after  join  Leander  where  he  waits. 

The  chance  arrives  .  .  .  Mamma  becomes  absorbed 

In  amiable  talk  with  him  she  named 

Florimel  Filigree  ...   I  disappear.) 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

Sir,  if  I  recollect  aright,  you  are 
The  person  recommended  to  conduct 
My  German,  at  the  hour  of  one  o'clock. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
The  person  recommended  !     Madam,  I 
A  person  recommended  to  conduct 
Your  German  !     Do  my  ears  play  tricks  with  me? 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  67 

CHORUS  OF  BELLES. 
Come  with  bright  boots  and  with  loveliest  of  collars, 

Leader  most  perfect,  dancer  divine, 
With  the  sense  of  an  income  of  many  dollars, 

With  a  hand  white  as  milk,  with  an  instep  fine  ; 
Bind  on  thy  best  pumps,  O  thou  most  fleet, 
Over  thy  Terpsichorean  feet, 
For  the  sayings  of  sages,  the  seekings  of  scholars, 

Are  futile  against  fascinations  like  thine. 

How  may  we  charm  thee,  how  may  we  chat  to  thee, 
Bow  at  thy  bidding  and  fealty  swear? 

Be  more  beloved  than  thy  cane  or  thy  hat  to  thee, 
Proudlier  prized  than  thy  best  boutonniere  ? 

For  the  waltzings  of  others  are  unto  thine 

As  the  worms  that  glint  to  the  stars  that  shine; 

And  expressing  this  tender  trifle  or  that  to  thee 
Is  worth  all  the  wisdom  the  ages  wear. 

For  winter's  winnings  are  not  yet  over, 
Nor  all  that  the  season  of  snow  secures  ; 


68  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

The  dinners  attracting  lover  to  lover, 
The  balls  alive  with  flirtation's  lures  ; 

And  your  speeches  more  soft  than  flocculent  cotton, 

Whenever  delivered  are  unforgotten, 

And  notwithstanding  the  guile  they  cover, 
Sentence  by  sentence  their  spell  endures. 

The    glad    belle    feeds,    while    her   smooth    cheek 
flushes, 

On  language  hinting  thine  ardent  suit ; 
The  pure  faint  flame  of  her  being  flushes 

From  foot  to  brow  and  from  brow  to  foot  ; 
And  brow  and  foot  are  as  one  sweet  fire, 
And  her  heart  is  filled  with  a  fond  desire, 
While  girt  of  thine  arm  she  gayly  rushes 

Over  ball-room  floors  to  bassoon  and  flute. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 

Maidens,  what  do  ye  singing?    Wherefore  sing 
Thus  jocundly  in  praise  of  my  poor  self? 


70  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

CHORUS  OF  BELLES. 
Raiment  of  praise  we  bring  to  thee, 
Worthy  to  mantle  and  cling  to  thee, 

Songs  we  uplift 

As  thy  merited  gift. 
And  rejoice  while  we  loyally  sing  to  thee. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
Nay,  maidens,  though  blind  fate  has  wrought  me 

thus, 

With  hyacinthine  locks  on  stainless  brow; 
Though  tailoring  adroit  has  helped  my  shape 
To  show  its  utmost  manly  majesties, 
Why  therefore  should  ye  rather  seek  my  note 
Than  that  of  others,  wealthier  if  less  fair  ? 

CHORUS  OF  BELLES. 

We  cannot  assert  we  would  deign  for  thee 
Such  choice  as  we  now  entertain  for  thee, 

If  thine  income  were  less 

Than  we  venture  to  guess 
Its  absolute  annual  gain  for  thee. 


THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL.  71 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 

Ye  like  me  then  for  nothing  save  my  store 
Of  miserable  lucre  !    Woe  is  me  ! 

CHORUS  OF  BELLES. 

Not  for  this  do  we  like  thee  exclusively, 
Though  pelf  we  regard  not  illusively  ; 

Our  opinion  exalts 

Thy  superb  way  to  waltz, 
While  we  grant  that  we  laud  it  effusively. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 

Maidens,  I  thank  ye.     Sweet  your  tones  of  cheer 
After  gross  insult  given  a  moment  since. 

CHORUS  OF  BELLES. 

Not  a  maiden  who  hears  thee  but  will  agree — 
Yea,  if  scorned  in  the  past,  but  will  still  agree — 
That  as  leader  supreme 
Of  the  German's  quaint  scheme 
She  acknowledges  Florimel  Filigree. 


72  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

Among  fops  full  of  impudent  vanity 
Thou  shinest  for  sense  and  urbanity, 

And  if  any  one  states 

That  our  praise  overrates, 
We  denounce  his  dissent  as  insanity. 

Oh,  the  manners  of  fashion  are  quackery, 
And  its  morals  mere  frail  bric-a-brac-erie ; 

And  the  modern  young  beau, 

As  the  best  of  us  know, 
Should  be  scorched  by  a  Dickens  or  Thackeray. 

But  in  thee  we  find  no  superfluity 
Of  empty  conceit  and  fatuity  ; 

In  thee  doth  abide 

Solid  merit  outside 
Of  thy  large  and  attractive  annuity. 

Yea,  thou  art  deserving  of  benison 

As  the  ball-room's  most  elegant  denizen  ; 


THE   BUNTLING  BALL.  73 

In  honor  we  hold 
Thy  moustache  of  spun  gold, 
Which  would  shame  not  a  stanza  by  Tennyson. 

No  prince  of  the  blood  in  days  far-agone, 
No  Duke  of  Lorraine  or  of  Arragon, 

Could  boast,  we  declare, 

A  more  exquisite  air 
Than  our  darling,  our  pet,  and  our  paragon. 

More  supple  than  willow  or  hickory 
When  trained  by  the  bow-bearer's  trickery, 

Thy  feet  can  explore 

The  expanse  of  the  floor 
In  a  style  that  would  startle  Terpsichore. 

Each  maiden  is  fondly  insatiate 
Herself  in  thy  heart  to  ingratiate, 

And  all  of  our  clique 

Could  continue  a  week 
On  thy  personal  charms  to  expatiate. 


74  THE   BUNTLING  BALL. 

CHORUS  OF  WALL-FLOWERS. 
Cease,  O  girls,  your  daring  song, 
Full  of  adulation  mad 
For  the  nimble-footed  lad 
Whom  your  fulsome  praises  wrong. 
Gazing  on  your  dainty  throng, 
Well  we  mark  you  sneer  and  pout ; 
Well  we  know  ye  scorn  and  flout 
Them  that  now  severely  chide. 
Much,  ye  deem,  our  eyes  would  see 
In  the  form  of  Filigree, 
If  'twere  not  our  doom  to  mope 
Far  from  his  approving  glance, 
Everlastingly  denied 
Any  little  spark  of  hope 
That  his  feet  will  pause  beside 
Us  whom  no  one  asks  to  dance. 
Rightly  have  ye  judged  perchance  ; 
Yet  the  lonely  wall-flowers  brood, 
In  their  sad  neglected  state 
Of  perpetual  solitude ; 


76  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

Oft  they  muse  and  cogitate 

On  the  conduct  bold  and  rude 

Of  the  belles  more  fortunate. 

Oft  they  make  their  murmur  low 

At  your  sentiments  imbued 

With  such  artificial  glow. 

Ah,  we  lonely  wall-flowers  guess 

All  your  schemes,  astute  and  shrewd, 

All  the  deep,  deceptive  wiles, 

All  the  Machiavellian  smiles 

That  accomplish  your  success, 

Leaning  limp  against  the  wall, 

With  no  gardener  at  all 

To  relieve  our  irksome  lot. 

Fain  our  tendrils  would  incline 

With  dependence  feminine 

Toward  some  stout  supporting  bole  ; 

Yet  we  may  secure  it  not, 

And  the  yearning  must  control 

Of  each  disappointed  soul. 

Never  may  the  wall-flower  tell, 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  77 

Though  she  ponder  many  hours, 
Just  by  what  peculiar  spell 
She  is  unlike  other  flowers; 
Never  may  she  learn  the  whence 
Of  such  doleful  difference. 
Though  she  strive  with  all  her  powers, 
Never  may  she  be  a  belle  ! 
This  alone  she  understands, 
While  the  seasons  run  their  sands, 
And  the  dread  more  darkly  lowers 
Of  a  spinster's  hated  name. 
Surely  'tis  not  odious  looks, 
Mottled  skin  or  arms  that  flame, 
Clumsy  waist  or  shapeless  hands, 
Eyes  that  squint  or  nose  that  crooks, 
Nor  a  neck  whose  outline  owns 
To  the  -unsymmetric  shame 
Of  conspicuous  collar-bones. 
Why  we  ever  fail  to  please, 
Why  we  pine  in  lone  distress, 
Why  we  languish  partnerless, 


78  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

Is  from  no  defects  like  these. 

Yet  we  grant  we  cannot  seize 

Those  resources  of  finesse 

Which  our  bolder  sisters  use  ; 

We  admit  we  cannot  flirt, 

Ogle,  simper,  and  employ 

Half  a  hundred  modes  alert 

To  bewilder  and  amuse, 

To  entangle  and  decoy. 

Then,  moreover,  we  enjoy 

No  excess  of  worldly  gain  : 

Were  we  heiresses,  indeed, 

All  anxiety  and  pain 

Would  depart  from  us  with  speed. 

For  the  heiress  may  be  plain 

As  late  autumn's  rusty  weed, 

May  be  florid,  freckled,  spare, 

Awkward,  bouncing,  shambling,  staid, 

Huge  of  bulk  and  harsh  of  voice, 

Yet  the  instances  are  rare 

Of  her  dving  an  old  maid, 


THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL.  79 

Save  she  does  so  out  of  choice. 
Haunting  balls  where  she  is  thought 
An  encumbrance  at  the  best, 
Thither  mercilessly  brought 
By  mammas  who  never  rest 
From  their  lectures  when  at  home, 
It  may  be  that  in  her  breast 
Loftier  longings  find  a  place, 
That  she  judges  light  as  foam 
All  which  idly  happens  here, 
And  has  no  desire  to  face 
An  assemblage  of  such  mere 
Meretricious  atmosphere. 
It  may  be  that  in  her  brain 
Great  ideas  have  taken  root, 
From  the  circles  which  contain 
Modern  thinkers  of  repute  ; 
It  may  be  that  she  would  fain 
Calmly,  diligently  list 
Unto  themes  which  more  invite 
Than  to  canter,  night  by  night. 


8o  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

Through  the  German's  twirl  and  twist, 

With  a  spry  fop  at  her  wrist ; 

It  may  be  that  she  is  quite 

Wed  to  Matthew  Arnold's  views, 

Loving  Sweetness,  loving  Light ; 

It  may  happen  that  the  gist 

Of  her  close  research  pursues 

Herbert  Spencer' screed  of  doubt, 

While  she  serves  as  his  devout 

Fellow-evolutionist. 

Or  perchance,  with  aim  more  mild, 

On  aesthetic  fancies  bent, 

She  an  earnest  ear  has  lent 

To  the  words  of  Oscar  Wilde, 

And  would  paint  the  undefiled 

Lily  on  a  velvet  ground, 

Or  the  sunflower  represent 

In  rich  needlecraft  profound. 

Or  she  may  have  spared  no  stern 

Industry  to  probe  and  scan 

All  the  doctrines  which  concern 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  8 1 

Woman  as  the  peer  of  Man. 

Yet,  whatever  plea  or  plan 

That  the  wall -flower  may  confess 

With  effusive  eagerness 

For  employments  far  aloof 

From  the  shallow  pomp  she  meets, 

Redolent  of  stale  deceits, 

Always  coldly,  ne'ertheless, 

Every  intellectual  proof 

Thus  exhibited  receives 

Her  mamma's  complete  rebuff. 

O  the  hapless  wall-flower  grieves 

At  parental  treatment  rough, 

Told  more  times  than  she  can  count 

(As  if  once  were  not  enough), 

That  she  lets  her  chance  slip  by, 

That  she  seems  a  wretched  guy, 

That  the  generous  amount 

Spent  upon  her  brave  attire 

Should  excite  her  to  apply 

Stout  ambition's  force  and  fire, 


82  THE   BUNTLING  BALL. 

And  be  wedded  ere  she  fades, 

Ere  she  ranks  with  ancient  maids. 

Thus  mammas  will  bid  aspire, 

Thus  they  rouse  the  wall-flower's  ire, 

Thus  they  goad  and  taunt  till  she 

Desperately  yearns  to  be 

Mated,  howsoe'er  amiss, 

With  some  vapid  spouse  like  this 

Flippant  Florimel  Filigree. 

FLORIMEL    FILIGREE. 

I  hear  ye,  plaintive  girls,  yet  heed  ye  not. 
A  keener  pain  has  dealt  me  deeper  wounds 
Than  all  your  querulous  clamors  may  bestow. 
For,  look  ye,  of  stainless  name,  unflawed  repute, 
I  have  been  held  until  this  fatal  hour. 
In  sovereign  isolation  did  I  reign 
Over  all  envious  competitors. 
My  necktie  was  an  edict,  and  my  coat 
A  proclamation  ;  my  new-purchased  cane 
Struck  jealousy  to  countless  burning  hearts. 


THE  BUSTLING  BALL.  83 

My  smile  was  canonizing  in  its  gleam, 

And  made  a  sacred  belle  of  her  it  cheered. 

Ye  wall-flowers  could  not  reach  its  precious  light, 

But  dwelt  in  shadow  of  its  chill  recoil, 

Wherefore    ye    scowled    and    grumbled    in    your 

spleen. 

I  was  till  now  the  blameless  arbiter 
Of  fashion,  style,  decorum  and  prestige. 
But  lo,  I  am  insulted,  put  to  shame, 
Miscalled  in  terribly  calumnious  way 
A  person  recommended  to  conduct 
The  German  at  this  vulgar  Buntling  Ball. 
Ah,  woe  is  me  that  am  ignobly  classed 
With  caterers,  musicians,  florists,  men 
Who  toil  for  pay  with  gross  plebeian  souls. 
Why  did  I  fling  the  splendor  of  my  fame 
Thus  broadcast  on  barbaric  boorishness  ? 
I  should  have  held  myself  at  rarer  worth ; 
I  should  have  recollected  I  was  I. 
Now  never  any  more  in  future  time 
It  shall  be  as  it  was  with  Filigree. 


84  THE   BUNTLING  BALL. 

Already  do  I  hear  the  cruel  tale 
Bandied  from  lip  to  lip  of  how  I  met 
Impertinence  abominable,  thrust 
At  my  respectability  supreme. 


CHORUS  OF  GOSSIPS. 

Yea,  Filigree,  thou  shalt  in  sooth  receive 

No  mercy  at  our  hands. 

Thou  knowest,  and  none  knows  better,  we  believe, 
The  mission  that  we  bear,  the  tasks  we  achieve, 

In  all  societies  throughout  all  lands. 
But  oft  we  fancy  that  our  tongues  wear  fork 
Deadlier  and  keener  when  we  make  New  York 

Our  lair  and  dwelling-place. 
And  yet  we  peradventure  do  mistake, 
Thus  localizing  the  chief  woes  we  wake, 
Since  in  all  cities,  Paris,  London,  Rome, 
Wherever  man  is  faulty,  foolish,  base, 
We  are  and  shall  be  equally  at  home. 


86  THE  BUXTLTXG  BALL. 

The  old  classic  Furies  were  but  three. 
And  yet  far  otherwise  it  is  with  us, 
Whose  number  is  truly  multitudinous. 
Although  we  flagellate  in  like  degree. 
Think  not  to  escape  us  ;  vigilant  are  we, 
And  armed  at  every  point  with  cunning  tact. 
Minute  indeed  the  unimportant  fact 
That  can  evade  our  piercing  search  ; 
Trivial  indeed  the  least  diurnal  act 
That  leaves  our  curiosity  in  the  lurch. 

We  know  with  what  unflagging  force 
Those  tireless  Greenbacques  ever  push  and  squeeze 
In  their  inflexibly  propulsive  course. 
And  almost  supplicate  upon  their  knees 
For  cards  to  dinners,  parties,  ante-prandial  teas. 

We  have  seen  Sibylla  Moneypenny  bow 
With  cold  impertinence  to  Ida  Gray, 
Whom  once  she  fawned  upon  because  au  fait 
In  fashionable  matters,  but  whom  now 
She  finds  of  no  more  use  in  her  ascent 
Up  aristocracy's  aerial  stairs. 


THE   BUNTLING  BALL.  87 

We  have  heard  how  young  Kate  Pertinax  has  spent 
Whole    hours    in   mending    frocks    and    cleaning 

gloves, 

Since  every  rag  the  poor  dear  pauper  wears 
Her  own  hand  of  necessity  repairs, 
Turns,  twists,  remodels,  that  she  still  may  keep 
Some  sort  of  foothold  in  the  loud  gay  world  she 

loves. 

We  observe,  with  stealthy  eyes  that  never  sleep, 
All  secrets  of  the  household,  all  affairs 
Domestically  holy  and  obscure. 
Mysterious  means  are  ours,  whence  we  procure 
Tidings  of  separation  and  divorce, 
Delicious  bits  of  scandal  immature, 
Some  merely  racy,  some  profanely  coarse. 
We  know  the  servants'  wages  paid  (or  not) 
By  many  a  family  of  good  renown; 
We  mark  the  corner-grocer's  threatening  frown, 
The  unrewarded  butcher's  piteous  lot, 
The  explosive  milliner's  resentment  hot 
While  dunning  for  some  long-completed  gown. 


88  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

We  note  the  irate  florist's  wrath,  or  still 
The  enraged  confectioner's,  or  worse, 
That  frequent  and  denunciating  curse 

Of  the  wronged  tailor,  with  his  unreceipted  bill! 

MRS.   BUNTLIXG. 

Dire  are  these  free  disclosures,  and  condemn 
The  lips  that  give  their  spite  impressive  shape  .  . 
Since  I,  sweet  Florimel  Filigree,  have  erred, 
I  crave  with  lowly  grief  your  clement  heed. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
I  grant  you  grace,  though  deep  the  hurt  you  dealt. 

MRS.   BUNTLIXG. 
Nay,  'tis  not  deep  enough  to  thwart  quick  cure. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
My  pride  is  delicately  sensitive. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Too  long  on  adoration  thou  hast  fed. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  89 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
Ambrosial  diet,  palatably  rare. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Whereon  dyspepsia  waits,  like  Nemesis. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
Dyspeptic  am  I  not,  nor  ever  was. 

MRS.    BUNTLING. 
Pride  is  an  indigestion  of  the  soul. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
Thou  canst  not  understand  me  superfine. 

MRS.   BUNTLING. 
Mortal  thou  art  at  most,  howe'er  thou  vaunt. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
All  yield  to  death,  the  exotic  as  the  weed. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Rankest  thou  none  on  earth  thy  better  born  ? 


90  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
How  should  I,  lady,  since  none  such  draws  breath  ? 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

0  apotheosis  of  wild  conceit ! 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
'Tis  not  conceit  to  know  one's  vast  deserts. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Great  thinkers,  writers,  poets  walk  our  globe. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
These  are  but  toiling  servants  whom  we  pay. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Dost  thou  not  reverence  intellect  at  all  ? 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 

1  reverence  nothing  save  the  claims  of  caste. 

MRS.   BUNTLING. 
O  monstrous  arrogance !  what  man  is  this  ? 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL,  91 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
Thou  too  reverest  eminence  like  mine. 

MRS.   BUNTLING. 
Wherefore  assert,  since  thou  art  weak  to  prove  ? 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
Plenteous  my  proof,  else  why  the  Buntling  Ball  ? 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
I  seek  proud  place,  yet  prize  not  solely  this. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
You  seek  a  visiting-list  of  flawless  kind. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
With  strong  desire,  but  not  with  burning  hope. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
Such  hope  were  worthy  !  hold  it  not  in  scorn. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Pet  of  the  ladies,  hast  thou  any  woes  ? 


92  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
I  find  it  difficult  to  dress  a  blond. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Thou  art  American,  or  so  I  dream. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
I  shame  to  answer  in  affirmative. 

MRS.    BUNTLING. 
Dost  thou  regret  thy  country  and  thy  race  ? 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
With  all  my  well-bred  gentlemanly  soul. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Hast  thou  forgot  the  name  of  Washington  ? 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
Nay,  surely  not!  he  was  an  Englishman. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
What  word  hast  thou  to  say  for  Lexington  ? 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL  93 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
A  silly  brawl,  insulting  good  King  George. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Dost  thou  not  heed  thy  country's  politics? 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
1  vote  not  on  election-days,  but  bet. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Ah,  why  this  unexampled  apathy? 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
I  hate  all  principles  republican. 

MRS.   BUNTLING. 
What  others  dost  thou  hunger  for  instead  ? 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
The  White  House  turned  a  palace,  me  a  Peer. 

MRS.    BUNTLING. 
O  traitorous  and  mad  apostasy  ! 


94  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

CHORUS  OF  BELLES. 
Vex  not  our   dear  one's  mind 

With  thy  shallow  wit ; 
Vex  it  not,  O  Unrefined, 

For  thou  canst  not  fathom  it. 
Rather  shouldst  thou  sing  a  measure 
Full  of  adulating  pleasure 
To  a  creature  of  his  dainty  darling  kind. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
What  paean  do  ye  lift  to  what  loved  god  ? 

CHORUS  OF  BELLES. 
Thou  mayst  have  met  him  now  and  then, 

Albeit  we  candidly  declare 
He  seldom  walks  excepting  when 

The  weather  is  extremely  fair. 
Most  walking  he  esteems  a  bore  ; 

From  'bus  or  car  his  tastes  rebel ; 
And  cabs  he  finds  appropriate  for 

The  modern  New  York  swell. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  95 

Yet,  meeting  him,  'tis  ten  to  one 

Thou  quietly  hast  taken  note 
How  nice  an  architect  has  done 

The  building  of  his  overcoat. 
Thine  eye  has  marked  the  shape  and  shade 

Of  peerless  trousers,  perfect  hat — 
The  intellectual  effort  made 

In  tying  his  cravat. 

And  doubtless  thou  hast  paused  and  saidx 

"  Behold  a  being  not  designed 
The  favor  of  one  glance  to  shed 

On  vulgar  members  of  his  kind. 
For  finer  clay  wise  Nature  sought 

(It  needs  but  half  a  glance  to  tell) 
When  in  propitious  mood  she  wrought 

This  modern  New  York  swell." 

His  breakfast  is  before  him  set 

At  ten,  eleven,  sometimes  two, 
And  then  he  lights  a  cigarette 

And  skims  the  morning  papers  through. 


96  THE   BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

On  afternoons  he  oft  will  chance 
A  window  at  the  club  to  try, 

And  stare  quite  out  of  countenance 
The  ladies  who  pass  by. 

Or  on  a  club-lounge  he  will  loll, 

To  wicked  scandals  giving  heed, 
Some  most  ridiculously  droll, 

Some  very  terrible  indeed  : 
How  slightly  Brassnose  minds  a  snub, 

How  Toperton  has  sprained  his  wrist, 
How  Slye  will  have  to  leave  the  club 

For  fraudulence  at  whist. 

Or  he  will  go  to  drive,  perhaps, 

On  certain  favorable  days, 
In  one  of  his  attractive  traps 

Behind  a  pair  of  beauteous  bays. 
Some  noted  belle  displays  her  charms 

Beside  him,  if  his  whim  permits, 
And  at  his  back,  with  folded  arms, 

A  rigid  "tiger"  sits. 


THE  BUNT  LING  BALL.  97 

'Tis  rare  that  he  alone  will  dine, 

Since  dining  out  diverts  him  more, 
And  all  our  best  grandees  incline 

To  entertain  him  o'er  and  o'er. 
His  million  and  his  manners  please, 

And  then  it  looks  extremely  well 
To  seat  at  their  mahoganies 

A  modern  New  York  swell. 

At  evening  party  or  at  ball 

He  shines  conspicuously  bright, 
And  is  not  looked  upon  at  all 

In  any  low  and  menial  light. 
The  hostesses  of  our  haut  ton 

Are  always  ready  to  admit 
That  when  he  leads  their  cotillon 

He  lends  new  charm  to  it. 

On  opera  he  doth  fondly  dote, 
Though  of  its  music,  we  confess, 

He  seldom  hears  a  single  note 
With  any  real  attentiveness. 


98  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

From  box  to  box  he  loves  to  float, 
And  there  he  finds  us  all  the  same  ; 

Compared  with  him  we  promptly  vote 
Our  favorite  tenor  tame. 

And  thus  he  passes  hours  away, 

Yet  sometimes  toils,  in  spite  of  rank, 
Since  now  and  then,  for  half  a  day, 

He  cuts  off  coupons  at  the  bank. 
A  dreadful  trouble  .  .  .  yet  full  well 

We  know  each  life  some  care  must  see- 
Yea,  even  the  life  of  such  a  swell 

As  peerless  Florimel  Filigree. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

Surely  thou  art  beloved  past  common  use  .  .  . 
Wilt  lead  my  German  as  first  foreordained? 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
Nay,  lady,  though  I  freely  pardon  thee 
Thy  terrible  unprecedented  wrong, 


THE   BUNTLING  BALL.  99 

I  still  am  none  the  less  debilitate, 
Demoralized,  unstrung  and  shattered  quite. 
I  pray  thee,  therefore,  ask  some  other  man,_ 
Since  many  another  would  be  glad  to  fill 
The  office  I  resign  for  this  one  night. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

Thou  hast  not  yet  beheld  my  daughter  Jane 
With  any  save  mayhap  a  cursory  glance. 
Ere  thou  refusest,  deign  to  mark  my  child, 
Thy  willing  partner,  milky-armed,  star-eyed, 
And  robed  in  garments  of  the  latest  mode. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
I  search  for  Jane,  yet  I  discern  her  not. 

CHORUS  OF  BELLES. 
Jane,  Jane, 
Where  hast  thou  fled  ? 

Jane,  it  is  plain, 

Has  hidden  her  head. 

Florimel  openly  shows  to  her 


100  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

Heed  that  by  no  means  he  owes  to  her  ; 

And  how  can  we  say, 

Ere  the  night  wear  away, 
Whether  Florimel  may  not  propose  to  her  ? 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Vainly  I  search  through  either  spacious  room. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 

Lady,  art  sure  she  sits  not  bowered  aloof 
In  gloom  of  some  dim-tapestried  recess, 
Beside  some  Anglomaniac  devotee  ? 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

Nay,  Heaven  avert  that  any  maniac  guest 
Should  thrust  his  perilous  presence  where  I  dwell. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 

Many  have  done  this  thing,  yet  fear  thou  not, 
Since  void  of  harm  their  mild  insanity. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  i< 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Spite  of  thy  charge  to  fear  not,  still  I  fear. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
Keep  silent,  hearkening,  and  thy  fear  shall  end. 

CHORUS  OF  ANGLOMANIACS. 

It  is  positively  false  to  call  us  frantic, 

For  the  soundness  of  our  mental  state  is  sure, 

Yet  we  look  upon  this  side  of  the  Atlantic 
As  a  tract  of  earth  unpleasant  to  endure. 

We  consider  dear  old  England  as  the  fountain 

Of  all  institutions  reputably  sane; 
We  abominate  and  loathe  a  Rocky  Mountain; 

We  regard  a  rolling  prairie  with  disdain. 

We  assiduously  imitate  the  polish 

That  we  notice  round  the  English  nabob  hang  ; 
We  unfailingly  endeavor  to  abolish 

From  our  voices  any  trace  of  nasal  twang. 


102  THE   BUNTLING  BALL, 

Every  patriotic  duty  we  leave  undone, 

With  aversion  such  as  Hebrews  hold  for  pork, 

Since  we  venerate  the  very  name  of  London 
In  proportion  to  our  hatred  of  New  York. 

No  entreaty  could  in  any  manner  soften 

Our  contempt  for  native  tailors,  when  we  dress  ; 

If  we  bet,  we  "  lay  a  guinea,"  rather  often, 

And  we  always  say  "  I  farncy"  for  "  I  guess." 

We  esteem  the  Revolution  as  illegal ; 

If  you  mention  Bunker  Hill  to  us,  we  sigh; 
We  particularly  execrate  an  eagle, 

And  we  languish  on  the  fourth  day  of  July. 

We  are  not  prepared  in  any  foolish  manner 
The  vulgarities  of  Uncle  Sam  to  screen  ; 
We    dislike    to     hear    that    dull     "  Star-Spangled 
Banner," 

But   we   thoroughly     respect     "  God    Save    the 
Queen." 


104  THE   BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

We  revere  the  Prince  of  Wales,  though  he  should 
prick  us 

"With  a  sneer  at  the  republic  we  obey  ! 
We  would  rather  let  His  Royal  Highness  kick  us 

Than  have  been  the  bosom-friend  of  Henry  Clay ! 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Rank  treason  riots  in  their  daring  song. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
They  sing  but  what  they  feel.     So  bear  with  them. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Rather  than  bear  with  them  would  I  rebuke. 

FLORIMEL  FILIGREE. 
'Twere  rash  to  tempt  their  Anglomaniac  scorn. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Rash  though  it  were,  I  yearn  to  speak  my  mind. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  105 

THE  BUTLER. 
Most  gracious  lady,  supper  is  announced. 

MRS.    BUNTLING. 

I  miss  not  merely  Jane,  but  also  him, 
My  lord,  Alonzo,  master  of  this  feast. 

CHORUS  OF  BELLES. 
Where  is  Alonzo, 
Round  as  a  barrel, 
Hating  to  don  so 
Smart  an  apparel  ? 
Supper  is  calling  him, 
Martyr  yet  master. 
Is  there  disaster 
Darkly  befalling  him  ? 
He  should  be  near  us 
In  stout  actuality, 
Ready  to  cheer  us 
With  fine  hospitality. 
Does  he  forsake  us, 


I06  THE   BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

Far  in  some  upper  room, 
When  he  should  take  us 
All  to  the  supper-room  ? 
Does  he  imagine  us 
Disinclined  slightly 
To  welcome  politely 
His  smile  oleaginous  ? 
Has  he  detected 
A  vague  incivility  ? 
Is  he  affected 
By  latent  hostility  ? 
Why  should  he  shirk  us? 
Why  thus  depart  from  us  ? 
Feelings  that  irk  us 
Angrily  start  from  us. 
Since  the  festivity 
Shows  a  proclivity 
Both  to  be  edible 
And  to  be  potable, 
Nay,  'tis  quite  risible 
Unto  the  most  of  us 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  107 

That  he,  the  host  of  us, 

Should  not  be  visible, 

Should  not  be  notable. 

Tell  us,  Alonzo, 

Where  you  abide  from  us. 

Why  carry  on  so, 

Alonzo,  and  hide  from  us  ? 

MRS.   BUNTLING. 

I  had  given  orders,  maidens,  while  ye  sang 
Your  song  half-freighted  with  sarcastic  spleen, 
Even  as  an  arrow  is  half-tipped  with  gall  .   .   . 
The  house  in  its  entirety  has  been  searched, 
Yet  sign  or  trace  is  found  not  of  these  twain, 
My  lord,  the  giver  of  this  festival, 
My  white-armed  daughter,  treasured  past  all  cost. 
Ah,  woe  is  me,  upon  whose  modern  head, 
Whose  nineteenth-century  head,  has  fallen  an  ill 
Most  like  calamities  of  ancient  sort. 
Now,  if  I  knew  to  phrase  the  antique  mode 
Of  suffering,  I  should  peradventure  tear 


loS  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

My  hair  and  moan  with  anguish  classical. 
But  knowing  not  these  methods  of  great  grief, 
I,  powerless  to  tell  my  misery, 
Must  uncomplainingly  adopt  the  style 
Of  modern  sufferers  and  control  myself. 
Wherefore  I  bid  ye  all,  with  placid  mien, 
To  sup,  and  while  ye  sup  I  bid  ye  think 
No  thought  of  me  deserted  by  her  kind, 
Yearning  to  know  the  whereabouts  of  Jane, 
Yearning  to  know  Alonzo's  whereabouts. 
For  I  am  sick  at  heart  with  awful  dread : 
But  ye,  partake;  the  savory  supper  waits; 
The  slim-necked  bottle  nestles  in  the  ice; 
The  sweet-fumed  feast  entices,  close  at  hand. 
But  me  no  appetite  hath  power  to  charm, 
Deserted,  and  most  unexpectedly, 
By  lord  and  offspring  at  the  Buntling  Ball. 

CHORUS  OF  GLUTTONS. 

We  go  with  pleasure  where  you  invite  us,  we  scent 
the  joyance  of  dainties  rare ; 


110  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

The  well-known  odors  once  more  excite  us,  with 
force  sufficient  to  curl  our  hair. 

A  single  purpose  at  ball  or  party  controls  our  com 
ing,  prolongs  our  stay  ; — 

'Tis  that  of  getting  a  nice  and  hearty  substantial 
supper,  with  naught  to  pay. 

Our  souls  are  with  you,  the  gracious  giver ;  we  fol 
low  gladly  where'er  you  lead ; 

We  own,  each  claimant,  a  perfect  liver,  and  fine 
equipment  to  largely  feed. 

Let  others  cherish  the  romping  German,  or  see  in 
chatter  a  charm  to  lure  ; 

Our  gastric  juices  alone  determine  whatever  pas 
time  we  may  secure. 

No  idle  worship  of  empty  Mammon,  no  silly  babble 
of  man  or  maid, 

Against  attractions  of  flaky  salmon  or  larded  par 
tridge  may  be  arrayed. 

The  eye  that  flashes,  the  lid  that  flutters,  the  fan 
flirtatious,  the  murmured  phrase — 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  in 

How  slight  a  magic  their  meaning  utters  beside  a 

lobster  with  mayonnaise  ! 
What    true     contentment    may   pride    insure    us, 

through  airs  pretentious  and  vain  display, 
When  ranked  with  raptures  that  Epicurus,  though 

dead  for  decades,  preserves  to-day  ? 
Shall  Kate  who  ogles,  or  blushing  Mabel,  or  smil 
ing  Lucy,  their  foibles  rate 
With  those  enticements  the  supper-table,  when  fatly 

furnished,  can  demonstrate  ? 
Do  feet  that  twinkle,  or  glances  dreamy,  or  lips  that 

prattle,  at  all  compare 
With  Mumm  and  Clicquot  a  trifle  creamy,  or  filet 

mignon  a  trifle  rare  ? 
Nay,  heed  and  trust  us,  the  hue  is  duller  on  cheek 

of  maiden,  though  mantling  gay, 
Than  that  more  balmy   and   bloomy  color  which 

brims  a  bottle  of  Beaujolais. 
The  hopes  of  mortals  may  pass  and  perish  ;  their 

faith  may  vanish  ;  their  foes  may  smite  ; 


112  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

But  they  are  happy  who  still  can  cherish  the  one 

last  blessing  of  appetite. 
Though  love  desert  us,  though  friends' affection  to 

deeds  of  malice  may  basely  stoop, 
How  sweet  to  treasure  the  proud  reflection  that  still 

we  value  a  perfect  soup  ! 
While  cares  beset  him  and  troubles  thicken,  no  man 

is  wretched  who  still  can  boast 
Appreciation  of  devilled  chicken  and  admiration  for 

quail  on  toast. 
Though  tyrants  flourish  and  varlets  flatter,  though 

kingdoms  totter  and  slaves  rise  up, — 
When  all  is  ended,  how  slight  a  matter,  if  still  we've 

peptics  to  dine  or  sup  ! 
Let  statesmen   squabble  and  nations  wrangle,  let 

great  reformers  their  schemes  propound ; 
What  use  to  bother  with  life's  tough  tangle  while 

nature  leaves  us  a  palate  sound  ? 
The  gains  of  glory  defeat  their  winner;  ambition's 

bubbles  explode  when  caught : 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  113 

There  dwells  more  comfort  in  one  good  dinner  than 
all  the  wisdom  that  Plato  taught! 

MRS.   BUNTLING. 

Guests,  if  my  lord,  at  this  unseemly  time, 
Hath  choice  to  absent  himself  from  our  repast, 
Ye  therefore  judge  the  event  with  lenient  mood, 
And  feast  as  though  your  host  were  here  in  flesh. 
Nay,  if  you  pardon  frankness  from  the  mouth 
Of  one  for  whom  politest  art  of  speech 
Is  now  your  debt  as  it  should  be  my  grace, 
I  fain  would  venture,  with  all  courteous  heed, 
To  rank  no  overplus  of  modesty 
Among  those  many  virtues  which  perchance 
Adorn  the  social  leaders  of  New  York. 
Chide  me  if  with  untoward  haste  I  judge, 
Gathering  my  quick  decision  from  stray  words 
Your  lips  have  dropped  in  tones  or  loud  or  low. 
Wherefore,  partake,  and  ere  the  banquet  ends 
I  trust  this  most  mysterious  vanishment 
Of  him  whose  name  I  duteously  bear, 


114  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

And  her  who  duteously  names  him  sire, 

Will  clear,  and  leave  no  shadow  in  its  wake 

Of  nebulous  bewilderment, — as  when 

The  emergent  sun  orbs  all  his  vivid  gold 

From  clouds  disparting,  and  the  enormous  blue 

Of  stainless  heaven,  swept  clear  by  rapid  gales, 

Beams     brilliant    o'er    the    moist    rain-glittering 

earth  .  .   . 

But  who  approaches  with  unwonted  mien, 
And  eyeballs  unconventionally  rolled? 
What  sharp  alarm  puts  tremor  in  his  lips? 
What  agitation  quite  galvanical 
Crooks  his  erratic  elbows,  and  destroys 
The  equilibrium  of  his  dorsal  thews  ? 

THE  BUTLER. 

Lady,  I  was  thy  butler  ;  but  dread  fright 
Me  that  am  only  man  hath  altered  much. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
If  fright  has  altered  thee  to  this  blanched  thing, 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  115 

I  pray  fright  palsy  not  thy  trembling  tongue 
Till  thou  hast  told  what  baleful  news  it  hides. 

THE  BUTLER. 

Lady,  thy  lord  hath  passed  his  vestibule 
And  entered  his  well-decorated  hall, 
Himself  yet  not  himself,  I  shame  to  state. 
For  he  is  flown  with  wine,  hath  drunken  deep, 
And  all  his  majesty  of  corpulence 
Is  changed  as  when  I  dip  the  dry  crisp  folds 
Of  a  clean  towel  into  heated  suds : 
Even  so  thy  lord  is  limp  and  flaccid  now. 

MRS.   BUNTLING. 

O  unforeseen  calamity  !     Get  hence, 
And  bid  thy  fellow-vassals  aid  thine  hand 
With  timely  interference,  ere  he  seek 
These  crowded  chambers,  fronting  cruel  jeers. 

THE  BUTLER. 
Lady,  no  more  could  I  restrain  him  now 


n6  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

Than  round  the  o'erflowing  goblets  that  I  serve 
Repress  the  Verzenay  too  rashly  poured. 

SEMICHORUS  OF  GOSSIPS. 

Matters  look  extremely  queer  .   .  . 

Are  we  wrong  or  are  we  right? 
Anastasia  pales  with  fear, 

As  we  feel  that  well  she  might. 

SEMICHORUS. 

Omens  dark  are  in  the  air  .   .  . 

Wait  and  watch,  with  lively  sense; 
Soon  we  all  shall  be  aware 

Of  a  scandal  quite  immense. 

SEMICHORUS. 

As  'tis  pleasant  to  aver, 

Fate  especially  has  planned 

That  whatever  may  occur, 

We  shall  have  it  at  first  hand. 


THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL.  117 

SEMICHORUS. 
Be  it  trivial,  be  it  great, 

We  shall  note  the  whole  affair, 
Able  afterward  to  state, 

Calmly,  proudly — "  I  was  there." 

SEMICHORUS. 
No  one  knows  till  he  has  tried, 

What  enjoyment  may  be  seized 
When  the  gossip  feels  with  pride 

Curiosity  appeased. 

SEMICHORUS. 
We  of  course  would  all  object 

That  disaster  should  befall 
Any  gathering  select, 

Like  the  present  Buntling  Ball. 

SEMICHORUS. 

Still,  should  something  yet  unnamed 
Stimulate  our  anxious  fears, 


Ii8  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

We  could  surely  not  be  blamed 
If  we  used  our  eyes  and  ears. 

SEMICHORUS. 

Look  !  Alonzo  comes  this  way, 
And  we  plainly  can  assert 

That  a  shocking  disarray 

Marks  the  bosom  of  his  shirt. 

SEMICHORUS. 

Far  from  us  the  malice  be 

Hateful  slanders  to  invent  ; 
But  beyond  a  doubt  we  see 

That  Alonzo' s  coat  is  rent. 
* 

SEMICHORUS. 

Calumny  we  all  deplore  ; 

False  reports  we  disavow  ; 
But  the  top-knot  that  he  wore 

Is  a  hirsute  ruin  now. 


THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL.  119 

SEMICHORUS. 
We  despise  mere  reckless  talk, 

Loved  by  malapert  and  dunce, 
But  Alonzo  seeks  to  walk 

Two  diverging  ways  at  once. 

SEMICHORUS. 
Tis  not  ours  to  interfere 

With  the  utterance  nature  grants, 
But  his  vowels  all  appear 

Angry  at  their  consonants. 

SEMICHORUS. 
Always  with  concern  polite 

We  from  vulgar  speech  have  shrunk ; 
But  Alonzo  seems  to-night 

Irremediably  drunk. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

Alonzo,  am  I  mad  or  do  I  dream  ? 
You  dawn  like  some  unbidden  ribald  guest 


120  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

Here  on  the  nice  decorum  and  fine  state 
Of  this  the  Ball  I  give  with  proud  intent 
To  assert  my  claims  for  social  eminence. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
I  took  a  walk,  to  get  a  lilleair. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Thy  lips  incapably  articulate 

The  unwilling  words  that  thou  wouldst  have  them 
speak. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
Look  here,  now,  Anastasia,  don'  getmad. 

MRS.   BUNTLING. 

0  dark  calamity  !     O  dread  disgrace  ! 

MR.  BUNTLING. 

1  met  a  few  friends  at  the  Hoffmanouse. 


THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL.  121 

MRS.     BUNTLING. 
Forbear,  I  pray,  to  wildly  seize  my  robe. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
Real  friends  o'  mine,  you  know,  Chicagomen. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Friends  truly  were  they,  to  have  turned  thee  thus ! 

MR.   BUNTLING. 
Lemme  explain  .  .  .   we  talked  about  oletimes. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Old  times!  new  mournful  times  have  fallen  on  me  ! 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
Oh,  come,  now,  don'  put  on  sushawfulairs. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Alonzo,  thou  art  gazed  on  with  contempt. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
Don'  look  at  me  like  that.      I  bossthisball. 


122  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Thou  bossest  it   !     O  anguish  !     O  despair! 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
I  bossthisball.     I  saysoanditstrue. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Still  more  his  words  play  truant  with  his  tongue. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
Come,  drop  those  airs,  or  else  I'll  giveyeaway. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Give  me  away  !    O  wild  vernacular ! 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
I'll  tell  these  fine  folks  how  I  married  yer. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

0  horror!     Pause,  Alonzo,  ere  too  late! 

MR.   BUNTLING. 
Ladies  and  gemmen,  this  good  wifeomine 

1  met  one  day  justwennyone  years  ago, 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  123 

Before  Chicago  was  a  greatbigplace. 
Her  mother  was  a  ladyomyownheart ; 
She  hadn't  any  frills  or  furbelows, 
But  kept  a  nice  respec'able  candystore 
Not  far  from  where  the  Grand  Pacifotel 
Is  now  located  .  .   .  Anastasia  helped 
Tend  customers  and  I  droptintoget 
Candies  for  Martha  Stout,  anothergirl 
That  I  was  sweeton  though  I  didntlove. 
But  when  Fd  spent  adollarormaybemore, 
I  found  I  fancied  Anastasia  best, 
And  so  I  .   .  . 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Guests,  all  thronging  curious, 
With    lips   pursed   tight    as    though    from    occult 

mirth, 

I  pray  ye  pass  toward  yonder  supper-room, 
Nor  heed  this  drivelling  and  insensate  tale 
Told  by  one  pitifully  in  his  cups  ! 
Pass  on,  I  do  beseech  of  ye,  pass  on  ! 


124  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

Ah,  woe  is  me,  that  strive  to  make  ye  pass, 

Yet  witness  only  your  blank  hostile  stares, 

Unmerciful  as  when  the  suppliant  hand 

Would  strive  to  plead  with  the  hot  lightning's  lip! 

Ye  bear  not  with  me ;  ye  are  obdurate  ; 

Ye  gaze  with  uncompassionating  eyes 

At  this  my  shame,  nor  leave  me  to  its  pang, 

Alone,  unnoted,  while  ye  blithely  eat. 

Sure,  yonder  spreads  the  appetizing  board, 

Loaded  with  dainties  of  surpassing  price. 

Ye  belles,  ye  wall-flowers,  Knickerbocker  swells, 

Yea,  Anglomaniacs,  gossips,  gluttons,  too, 

Retire,  and  leave  me  with  my  foolish  lord  ! 

CHORUS. 

We  have  heard  the  turgid  talk  of  your  Alonzo ; 
We  are  scandalized  that  he  should  carry  on  so  ; 
We  allow  it  is  our  bounden  task  to  leave  you 
With  the  husband  who  can  thus  annoy  and  grieve 

you; 
Yet  in  spite  of  dishes  cooked  with  costly  dressing, 


THE   BUNTLING  BALL.  125 

We  confess,  though  quite  ashamed  for  thus  con 
fessing, 

That  deserting  supper's  charms  we  still  must  tarry 
And  observe  you  scold  the  man  you  chose  to  marry. 
His  behavior,  we  admit,  is  very  awful, 
His  disclosures,  we  acknowledge,  are  unlawful  ; 
But  his  entrance,  with  dishevelled  hair  and  collar, 
We  will  grant  we'd  not  have  missed    for  many  a 

dollar. 

It  is  not  that  we  have  sought  your  entertainment 
With  a  wish  to   see  you   placed   in   such    arraign 
ment, 

But  when  private  woes  appear  like  placards  pasted, 
We  prefer  to  leave  your  supper  still  untasted. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

I  scarce  can  believe  what  I  hear; 

Your  cruelty  fills  me  with  fear. 
Do  I  find  you  conceding 
That  this  is  good-breeding, 

At  family  troubles  to  sneer? 


126  THE   BUNTLING  BALL. 

CHORUS. 

Exception  we  venture  to  make, 
Aggrieved  by  your  signal  mistake. 

If  thus  you  accuse  us 

You  sadly  abuse  us, 
And  sombre  resentment  awake. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Then  why  do  ye  stoutly  remain 
To  criticise  and  to  disdain, 

When  surely  'twere  kinder 
To  heed  my  reminder 
And  sip  my  expensive  champagne  ? 

CHORUS. 

Although  your  request  is  deplored, 
Its  claim  is  by  no  means  ignored; 
Yet  should  we  desert  you, 
Perchance  he  might  hurt  you. 
This  loudly  inebriate  lord. 


THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL.  127 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

I  am  not  afraid  in  the  least ; 

It  were  best  your  anxiety  ceased ; 
For  I  shall  soon  tame  him 
And  thoroughly  shame  him, 

When  once  you  have  fared  to  the  feast. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 

The  truth  of  the  whole  affair  is 
That  she  means  all  she  says  for  a  quiz: 

I'm  perfec'ly  able, 

By  no  means  unstable, 
And  game  for  a  bolleofizz. 

CHORUS. 

We  cannot  in  reason  deny 
Your  force  to  oppose  and  defy,, 

And  if  you  continue 

Such  masculine  sinew, 
Your  chance  of  success  we  descry. 


128  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 

A  wife  should  her  husband  obey, 
As  only  a  fool  would  gainsay, 
But  when  I  first  wed  her 
My  wife  took  a  header, 
And  kicked  half  her  harness  away. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 
Absurd  is  the  figure  you  cut, 
Assuming  that  swagger  and  strut ; 
Your  horrid  condition 
Will  harm  your  position 
And  make  you  society's  butt. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 

Who  cares  what  society  thinks  ? 

I  don't  give  her  twenty  good  winks  ; 
I  rattle  my  money 
And  laugh  at  how  funny 

She  looks  when  she  poses  and  prinks. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  129 

CHORUS. 

His  words  have  a  much  clearer  flow 
Than  those  we  heard  not  long  ago  ; 

As  might  be  expected, 

His  wits  are  collected. 
And  greater  sobriety  show. 

MR.   BUNTLING. 
Position  I  do  not  applaud; 
'Tis  an  empty  and  meaningless  gaud; 

In  Europe  I  told  it 

How  lightly  I  hold  it, 
But  here  I  esteem  it  a  fraud. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

O  guests,  I  beseech,  ere  too  late, 
That  you  all  will  consider  his  state 

As  that  of  one  blindly 

Discoursing  unkindly, 
From  causes  I  need  not  relate. 


I3o  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 

Don't  mind  Anastasia's  talk; 

My  statements  her  wrath  cannot  balk. 
You've  no  more  suspicion 
Of  grandeur  patrician 

Than  cheese  has  resemblance  to  chalk. 


CHORUS. 

This  diatribe  does  not  appall ; 
It  rouses  contempt  (that  is  all) 

To  see  you  exulting 

Because  of  insulting 
The  guests  at  your  own  Buntling  Ball. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 

I  did  not  insult  you  a  bit; 

My  motive  was  proper  and  fit. 
Your  ancestors  landed 
With  far  more  expanded 

Ideas  than  your  snobberies  hit. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  131 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

Retire,  I  pray  of  you,  maltreated  guests, 
To  where  the  untasted  supper  waits  your  heed. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 

Cry  down,  if  so  ye  will,  the  Buntling  Ball ! 
Who  cares  what  dainty  discontent  ye  wreak 
On  me  and  mine?     Who  cares  what  bitter  things 
Ye  scornfully  assert?     Erewhile  in  drink, 
I  now  am  sobered  by  your  bitter  smiles, 
Though  left  with  courage  of  such  potency 
That  I  dare  speak  my  mind  and  say  my  say. 
This  Ball  is  Anastasia's  Ball  alone. 
Hateful  as  feels  the  close  tense  garb  I  wear, 
Do  I  hold  all  your  brummagem  parade. 
Hateful  I  hold  your  unrepublican 
Conceits  of  caste  in  our  Republic  grand. 
Hateful  I  hold  your  liveries,  arms  and  crests, 
Hateful  your  truckling  lackeys,  hateful  all 
Your  traits  and  uses  un-American. 
For  I  was  reared  in  patriotic  scorn 


132  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

Of  those  who  do  not  reverence  this  dear  land 

As  freedom's  noblest  effort  yet  on  earth. 

Perfect  I  do  not  dare  to  name  her;  still, 

She  is  nearer  pure  perfection  by  great  strides 

Than  any  realm  the  Old  World  may  boast  of  now. 

Her  faults  are  mighty;  mighty  her  virtues  too. 

But  ye  with  rash  indifference  feed  her  faults  ; 

Ye  strive  to  arouse  in  manners,  morals,  creeds, 

Those  very  vices  of  display  and  pride 

Our  commonweal  was  wrought  to  crush  and  spurn. 

Ye  are  all  our  brave  forefathers  fought  against ; 

Ye  are  self-convicted  foes  of  equal  rights, 

True  liberty  and  fine  democracy. 

I  gaze  upon  my  wife,  so  fatally 

Enchanted  by  your  spells,  and  almost  hate 

This  power  of  wealth  I  won  by  honest  toil, 

Since  thus  its  gain  enslaves  her  to  your  rule. 

Ah  me  !  it  is  not  many  years  ago 

That  Anastasia,  in  her  Western  home, 

Met  cheerfully  her  daily  manual  tasks, 

A  willing  housewife,  pleased  at  decent  thrift. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  133 

When  first  we  married,  neither  thought  to  hire 
A  servant,  but  with  unobjecting  zeal 
Our  food  was  cooked  by  Anastasia's  hand. 
Then  later,  with  increased  prosperity, 
Our  Jane  being  born,  in  sober  conference 
We  chose  the  novel  luxury  of  a  cook. 
But  many  a  month  succeeded  ere  we  sought 
The  larger  luxury  of  a  chambermaid. 
And  notwithstanding  all  the  gold  that  came 
Pouring  from  Pork  through  other  later  years, 
I  think  that  our  dear  Jane  was  full  seventeen 
While  yet  we  dined  at  noon  and  supped  at  six. 
Then  Anastasia's  heart  ambitious  grew  ; 
She  fain  would  ape  the  airs  of  folk  she  saw 
In  street  or  theatre  ;  we  must  change  our  life; 
Dry-goods  of  costly  kind  must  clothe  her  form ; 
She  thought  our  basement  no  fit  dining-room  ; 
She  thought  our  upper  dining-room  too  small; 
She  thought  our  modest  house  ridiculous; 
She  thought  a  spacious  mansion  more  in  taste ; 
She  wanted  servants,  footmen,  carriages; 


134  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

And  last  of  all  she  clamored  stubbornly 
That  we  should  go  abroad  and  marry  Jane 
To  some  great  duke  or  prince.     I,  like  a  fool, 
Yielding  in  all  things,  yielded  finally 
To  this  determined  whim.     We  went  abroad, 
But  did  not  marry  Jane  ;  for  our  loved  child, 
Simple  in  soul  and  full  of  homely  tastes, 
Lacked  art  or  wish  to  marry  save  where  lay 
Her  gentle  preference,  her  maiden  love  .  .  . 
But  where  is  Jane,  my  daughter,  whom  I  named  ? 
I  see  her  not,  poor  dear  dissembling  one, 
Who  oft  has  told  me  how  her  mother's  course 
Of  cold  and  callous  worldliness  would  rouse 
Her  own  unspoken  pain  and  secret  tears. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

'Tis  false  that  Jane  hath  ever  thus  confessed ! 
'Tis  false  that  I  am  what  thy  dreadful  words 
Presume  to  paint  me,  spurred  by  reckless  drink, 
And  sure  of  swift  repentance  when  the  bane 
Of  this  vile  wine-engendered  mood  shall  pass. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  135 

SEMICHORUS. 
You  mentioned  your  Jane, 

And  she  comes  this  way. 
Her  face,  it  is  plain, 

Is  by  no  means  gay. 

She  looks,  on  the  contrary,  serious, 
And  also  a  trifle  imperious, 

As  though  there  had  lain 

Some  distress  on  her  brain, 
To  its  proper  repose  deleterious. 

O  Jane,  why  should  comfort  forsake  you  so, 
And  dark  discontent  overtake  you  so  ? 

Why  are  you  dejected 

With  gloom  unexpected, 
And  what  can  have  happened  to  make  you  so  ? 

Your  father,  of  course,  has  been  rude  to  us, 
In  language  uncivil  and  crude  to  us; 

But  you  were  aloof, 

And  received  not  the  proof 
Of  how  savagely  frank  was  his  mood  to  us. 


136  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

Your  mother,  no  doubt  with  sincerity, 
Regrets  his  exceeding  temerity, 

But  this  would  not  place 

In  your  virginal  face 
An  expression  of  so  much  severity. 

SEMICHORUS. 

Who  is  he  beside  you  standing 
With  the  air  of  one  demanding 
Your  reciprocal  affection 
While  he  offers  full  protection  ? 
Either  we  have  wrongly  noted, 
Or  we  saw  him  thus  devoted 
Ere  you  left  us,  though  serener 
In  his  general  demeanor. 
Does  he  offer  explanation 
For  your  pensive  perturbation  ? 
All  through  him  are  you  so  harassed, 
Pale,  defiant,  yet  embarrassed  ? 
Have  you  turned  a  willing  student 
In  the  school  of  deeds  imprudent  ? 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  137 

Have  you  shown  him  tokens  tender 
Of  your  heart's  complete  surrender? 
Are  you  now  about  to  utter 
What  shall  make  your  parents  nutter 
With  its  unrestrained  expression 
Of  idolatrous  confession  ? 

JANE. 

O  chanting  voices,  I  detect  cold  scorn 
Below  the  melodies  that  ye  lightly  weave. 
Ye  therefore  will  I  answer  not,  but  look 
Toward  them  alone  whose  pardon  I  would  win  ; 
Yea,  pardon,  since  my  new  sole  hope  lies  here, 
And  deep  will  be  my  sorrow  if  it  fail. 

SEMICHORUS. 

Soon  in  free  and  full  exposure 
We  shall  hear  some  strange  disclosure  ; 
For,  O  Jane,  as  we  behold  you, 
Wraps  and  sealskins  now  enfold  you ; 
And,  reluctant  to  disparage, 
Still  we  scent  a  secret  marriage. 


138  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

JANE. 

Parents,  'twere  best  if  I  should  use  quick  speech 
And  let  what  wounds  I  deal  be  dealt  with  speed, 
So  saving  pangs  more  gradual  truth  would  wake. 
This  youth  you  gaze  on  here  beside  me  now 
Is  named  Leander  Briggs,  and  I  have  sworn 
But  recently  before  a  clergyman 
To  love,  to  honor,  and  obey  this  youth 
Till  death  his  eyes  or  mine  shall  veil  with  night. 
Yea,  he  and  I,  irrevocably  wed, 
Crave  mercy  for  this  matrimonial  step 
Which  love,  the  all-swaying  force  of  human  hearts, 
Hath  fondly  urged  and  wrought  on  us  to  take. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
Jane  Buntling,  what  mad  jest  is  this  of  thine  ? 

JANE. 
Jane  Briggs  that  was  Jane  Buntling  mercy  pleads. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
I  think  some  dream  plays  trickster  with  my  brain, 


THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL.  139 

JANE. 
Awake  thou  art  in  every  fleshly  sense. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
What  man  is  this,  then,  O  unnatural  child  ? 

JANE. 
One  whom  to  love  I  found  most  natural. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
Thou  canst  not  long  have  known  him  ere  to-night. 

JANE. 
Three  happy  weeks  are  limit  of  my  love. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
What  knowledge  hast  thou  of  his  worldly  place? 

JANE. 
He  is  a  dry -goods  clerk  of  slender  means. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
Infatuate  girl!     How  often  had  ye  met? 


140  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

JANE. 
Thrice  ere  to-night.      Soul  quickly  speaks  to  soul. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
O  victim  to  a  shrewd  adventurer  ! 

LEANDER  BRIGGS. 

Nay,  never  that,  though  dry-goods  clerk  am  I, 
Even  as  thy  beauteous  child  hath  lately  told. 
No  purer  passion  yet  has  ruled  a  life 
Than  this  which  now  enthralls,  and  evermore, 
Till  death  and  life  be  self-same,  shall  enthrall 
My  individual  homage,  act  and  thought. 
O  elderly  paternal  gentleman, 
My  father-in-law  compulsory,  deem  not 
That  thou  hast  gold  enough  in  bank  or  bond 
To  richer  make  my  loyalty  and  love. 
Nay,  shouldst  thou  sternly  bid  thy  child  depart, 
Disfranchised  of  all  right  to  call  thee  sire, 
Abominated,  disinherited, 
Declared  exempt  and  alien  equally 
From  ties  of  blood  or  lucre  posthumous, 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  141 

I,  not  the  less,  I,  plain  Leander  Briggs, 

A  simple  clerk  of  Meares  and  Company, 

Would  hear  thy  verdict  with  no  vulgar  grief 

Like  that  the  baffled  fortune-hunter  feels, 

But  bravely  I  would  seek  to  mitigate 

The  sharp  results  of  thy  regretted  wraths 

And  treasure,  if  'twere  possible,  with  more 

Devout  protection  her  my  sireless  bride. 

Hear  me,  O  elderly  respected  one 

(And  while  I  call  thee  elderly  methinks 

The  term  injustice,  with  such  youthful  bloom 

Thy  fresh  cheek  mantles,  and  thy  virile  eye 

So  sparkles  with  proud  manhood's  vivid  fire), 

It  would  not  irk  if  Jane  were  dispossessed 

Of  all  prospective  share  in  thy  great  gains, 

Did  I  know  surely  that  her  valued  self 

Were  mine  through  years  to  guard  and  to  adore. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 

Thou  hast  indeed  a  facile  tongue,  slim  clerk, 
To  prate  so  glibly  of  my  youthful  bloom 


142  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

And  sparkling  eye.      Were  I  a  vain  man,  now, 
Or  one  who  set  much  heed  on  lapse  of  years, 
Desiring  to  look  younger  than  I  am, 
Perchance  thy  skilful  flattery  might  bestow 
Some  sort  of  tolerance  on  thy  misdeed 
And  hers. — But  let  such  nonsense  pass  .  .  . 
I  ani  elderly,  as  thou  didst  own  erewhile, — 
Yet  not  so  marvellous  elderly  in  sooth — 
And  as  for  handsome  .  .   .  well,  I  do  claim  skin 
Of  bloomy  tint,  eyes  not  so  dull  as  stones, 
And  locks  less  grizzly  than — But  pah  !  forbear 
To  dream  that  paltry  compliments  like  these 
Can  blunt  the  poignant  justice  of  my  rage. 
Thou  hast  done  shamelessly  and  thievishly. 
Nor  thou  nor  she  must  look  upon  my  face 
After  to-night  ;  ye  are  banished,  both  of  you, 
Each  deep  at  fault ;  one  grossly  treacherous, 
And  one  a  prodigy  of  ingratitude. 

JANE. 
O  father,  heed  thy  supplicating  Jane! 


THE   BUNTLING  BALL.  143 

I  would  have  told  thee  all  three  weeks  agone, 

When  first,  in  purchasing  pink  silk,  I  saw 

And  loved  unchangeably  Leander  Briggs, 

Save  that  a  fear  of  what  mamma  might  learn 

Deterred  and  hindered  my  confiding  wish. 

For  thou  wert  ever  lenient  to  thy  Jane; 

I  do  remember  (ah,  so  thankfully  !) 

How  oft  thy  hand  would  intercede  for  me 

Between  my  shrinking  girlish  form  and  that 

Implacable  maternal  slipper,  poised 

To  wring  the  bitter  shriek  from  helpless  lips. 

And  ever  would  I  bring  thee  what  I  loved 

In  those  dear  vanished  days  Chicagoan — 

A  toy,  a  doll,  a  book  of  pictured  rhymes, 

A  shining  apple,  rubicund,  rotund, 

Seeking  thy  praises  and  approving  smiles. 

So,  now,  my  cherished  father,  do  I  bring 

That  which  I  love  in  later  different  hours, 

My  true  Leander;  for  I  know  him  true 

As  birds  know  true  the  first  warm  hints  of  Spring, 

As  trees  know  true  the  mellowing  sun-ray's  thrill, 


144  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

As  violets,  hid  beneath  the  vernal  mould, 

Know  true  the  south  wind's  voice  that  lures  their 

blooms. 

He  is  a  clerk  at  Meares  and  Company's, 
Monotonously  measuring  long  yards 
Of  different  stuffs,  from  tulle  to  calico, 
From  tape  to  lace.    But  ah,  his  manly  mind 
Partakes  not  of  these  trivial  daily  tasks. 
O  father,  hear  me  out  before  you  close 
Impenetrable  doors  upon  us  both. 
Leander,  while  he  measures  yard  on  yard 
Of  universal  fabric,  hoards  unseen 
Below  the  counter  where  he  deftly  serves, 
A  volume  of  most  intellectual  sort, 
No  less  a  volume,  O  my  father  dear, 
Than  that  Proverbial  Philosophy 
Of  Tupper,  which  I  clearly  recollect 
Thyself  didst  love  to  read  upon  the  lounge, 
When  tea  was  over,  ere  thy  final  doze. 
This  book  Leander  reads  at  stolen  whiles, 
And  loves  the  massive  wisdom  it  contains, 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  145 

And  strives  to  shape  his  conduct  to  its  lore, 
Regarding  it  as  filled  with  maxims  rare, 
And  sometimes  murmuring  o'er  its  precious  lines 
Unconsciously,  while  heartless  customers 
Haggle  and  barter,  and  the  great  store  hums, 
And  all  the  worldly  babbling  mercantile 
Resounds  about  his  pure  poetic  ears. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
Nay,  art  thou  sure  that  he  loves  Tupper  well? 

JANE. 

0  joy  to  see  that  smile  illume  thy  face! 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
Young  man,  dost  thou  love  Tupper's  golden  verse  ? 

LEANDER  BRIGGS. 
Next  to  my  Jane  my  Tupper  do  I  prize. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 

1  did  not  think  to  pardon  thee  ;  yet  now, 


146  THE   BUNTLING   BALL. 

Regarding  thee  with  closer  scrutiny, 

I  see  them  hast  a  meditative  brow, 

As  sicklied  o'er  by  the  pale  cast  of  thought 

Which  doubtless  thou  hast  found  in  Tupper's  page. 

Well,  since  thou  art  the  husband  of  my  Jane, 

And  since  one  mutual  cult  I  recognize 

Between  thyself  and  me,  thus  much  I  deign 

To  pardon,  and  no  more :  it  is  that  thou 

Shalt  meet  me  in  fair  social  intercourse 

To-morrow  and  discuss  that  lofty  bard. 

Till  then,  thy  hand  .  .  .  what  afterward  shall  hap 

Is  hidden  deep  in  awful  scrolls  of  fate. 

LEANDER  BRIGGS. 
Oh,  thanks,  propitiated  father-in-law  ! 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
Prove  that  thou  art  lull  worthy  ere  thou  boast. 

LEANDER  BRIGGS. 
That  will  I  prove  ere  sinks  another  sun. 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  147 

CHORUS. 

O  sombre  ending  of  the  Buntling  Ball ! 
O  ruin  of  hopes  by  strong  ambition  fed  ! 
Where  shall  proud  Anastasia  hide  at  all 
The  droop  of  her  humiliated  head  ? 
Surely  the  ignominy  seemed  enough 

Her  madness  to  arouse 

When  her  aggressive  spouse 
Came  reeling  hither,  bibulously  gruff 
With  inarticulate    platitudes    about   her  marriage- 
vows. 

Ah,  yes,  Alonzo,  tumbling  in  unruly 
Among  the  assembled  throng, 
With  no  more  cultivation  than  a  Coolie, 
And  with  his  equilibrium  all  gone  wrong, 
He  was  a  nuisance  and  an  outrage  truly, 
And  fit  for  an  exterminating  thong. 
Rarely  in  social  records,  high  or  low, 
Has  any  mortal  man 
Played  worse  barbarian 
And  made  an  entrance  more  malapropos. 


148  THE   BUNTLING  BALL. 

Rarely  has  any  dame 

Been  put  to  keener  shame 

Than  hapless  Anastasia  by  the  glow 

Of  his  broad-blown  and  vinous  visage,  by 

His  alcoholic  eye, 

And  by  the  inhospitable  impudence,  whose  flow 

Tingled  through  every  nerve  of  our  punctilio. 

But  what,  moreover,  shall  we  say  of  Jane, 

With  her  preposterous  pranks, 

Her  reprehensible  disdain 

Of  proper  filial  duty,  filial  thanks  ? 

How  shall  we  rate  her  attitude  inane? 

Did  lunacy  compel  it,  willy-nilly  ? 

Alas  !  we  think  her  eminently  sane, 

Although  superlatively  silly. 

Disgraceful  is  her  conduct,  thus  to  trammel 

Maternal  efforts  that  she  clearly  saw. 

O  Jane,  you  are  the  last  tormenting  straw, 

And  fit  to  break  the  back  of  any  camel  ! 

Besides,  although  of  limited  capacity, 

As  far  as  appertains  to  matters  mental, 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  149 

You  must  allow  your  positive  mendacity 

To  be  deliberate,  not  accidental. 

Instead  of  your  papa's  forgiveness  gentle, 

The  fiat  that  shall  wholly  disinherit 

You  very  richly  merit. 

Instead  of  his  "  I-bless-you"  style  conventional, 

You  thoroughly  deserve  a  Harlem  flat 

As  payment  for  duplicity  intentional. 

A  Harlem  flat,  and  rather  small  at  that, 

With  complicated  smells  of  frying  fat 

And  washing-suds  ascendant. 

A  little  peevish  kitchen-range  that  smokes 

Because  the  chimney  just  above  it  chokes, 

And  one  poor  frowzy  girl  for  your  attendant. 

Oh,  yes,  most  faulty  Jane, 

You  should  henceforth  refrain 

From  sealskin  sacques  and  silk  resplendent. 

Your  future  lot  should  prove 

If  this  fantastic  love 

Would  long  remain, 

Romantic  Jane, 


150  THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 

In  all  its  charming  throes, 

One  sweet  couleur-de-rose, 

With  poverty  about  your  dear  neck  pendent ! 

You  soon  would  find  out  whether 

This  husband  of  your  choice 

Would  pull  not  somewhat  stoutly  at  his  tether 

And  lose  his  dove-like  voice 

When  served  an  ill-cooked  supper, 

And  growl  about  the  life  you  lived  together, 

In   spite   of   all  fine   precepts   from  his  venerated 

Tupper. 

JANE. 

Your  random  mockeries  leave  me  scathless  quite. 

LEANDER  BRIGGS. 
Disdain  them,  since  thy  sire  has  pardoned  us. 

JANE. 
Still  could  no  Harlem  flat  destroy  our  love ! 

LEANDER  BRIGGS. 
Not  though  its  attic  roof  leaked  floods  of  rain  ! 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  151 

JANE. 
Mamma  sets  gloomful  eyes  upon  us  both. 

LEANDER  BRIGGS. 
The  quivering  of  her  lip  is  leonine. 

JANE. 
I  think  her  silence  will  end  terribly. 

MR.  BUNTLING. 
Right  art  thou,  Jane.     My  pardon  is  not  hers* 

JANE. 
Leander,  let  us  kneel,  beseeching  grace. 

MRS.  BUNTLING. 

Kneel  not  ...    I  did  believe,  a  brief  while  since, 
That  some  black  nightmare  thralled  me  dreadfully, 
And  that  I  waking  would  discern  the  snare 
Thus  woven  of  sleep's  fell  visionary  imps. 
But  all  such  easy  credence  vanishes, 


152  THE  BUNTLING  BALL. 

And  I  am  left  to  front  the  galling  fact. 

What,  did  ye  look  for  wrath  ?     No  wrath  have  I, 

But  only  sorrow  past  the  reach  of  tears. 

That  which  is  done  stands  irreversible ; 

The  Jane  I  deemed  my  Jane  is  some  weird  Jane 

Who  being  my  daughter  was  a  hypocrite. 

A  cheat,  a  fraud,  and  therefore  not  my  Jane 

At  all  at  any  time  since  girlish  years. 

I  might  have  borne  calamities  like  these 

Bravelier,  if  dealt  not  by  a  husband's  hand, 

Or  daughter's.     For  the  ambition  I  had  nursed 

Was  equally  to  advance  myself  and  them. 

The  glory  of  my  accomplishment  should  fling 

Its  light  on  their  two  heads  as  on  my  own. 

We  should  have  made  a  trio  of  leadership, 

And  ye  that  here  have  witnessed  my  defeat 

Would  have  beheld  my  threefold  victory  ... 

But  all  that  roseate  dream  is  melted  now  ; 

I  am  betrayed,  yet  not  by  outward  foes  ; 

My  household,  yea,  the  nearest  of  my  kin, 

Rise  up  and  slay  me  ...  I  had  planned  for  Jane 


THE  BUNTLING  BALL.  153 

A  marriage  of  such  haughty  eminence 

That  foreign  journals  gladly  from  our  own 

Would  copy  all  the  details  of  its  pomp. 

Who  now  shall  chronicle  this  vulgar  flight, 

These  recreant  spousals,  but  with  jest  and  scoff? 

The  Buntling  Ball,  O  thou  perfidious  child, 

Hath  turned  thy  marriage  feast.     Go,  drink  and  eat 

With  him  thy  father's  easy  pardon  joys. 

Nor  viand  nor  foaming  vintage  is  for  me, 

But  sorrowing  solitude  through  many  days — 

Perchance  remorse,  repentance  .  .  .  who  shall  say  ? 

For  I  have  wrongfully  adored  the  power 

Of  wealth  and  sought  to  use  it  as  a  stair 

Whereby  ambition's  feet  might  scale  renown. 

But  peradventure  comfort  still  remains 

My  suffering  spirit  through  the  exercise 

Of  noble  and  unstinted  charities 

Hereafter,  whose  consolatory  balm, 

While  healing  other  wounds,  may  heal  mine  own. 

CHORUS. 
Lady,  we  pity  thy  supreme  distress, 


154 


THE  BUN  TUNG  BALL. 


While  solemnly  departing,  each  and  all  ; 
Yea,  while  departing  wholly  supperless, 
Amazed  that  such  .disturbance  should  befall. 

Yet  deeds  once  done  eternally  are 

done  ; 
The  Fates  are  three,  and  purblind 

man  is  one. 
O   dire    events   the    Fates    alone 

could  guess ! 

O  sombre  ending  of  the  Buntling 
Ball! 


A     000097591 


